


Made For Ruin

by ancnome



Category: Ahwm - Fandom, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: A Date With Markiplier, A heist with Markiplier - Freeform, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Darkiplier Mark Fischbach, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Foster Care, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Deported Family, Mentions of Foster Care system, Mentions of Lady Gaga, Mentions of Prison, Post-Who Killed Markiplier?, actor marks a bitch, also the story starts kinda rough but it gets better i promise, darkipliers also a bitch but with more redeeming qualities, honestly idk how this story's gonna end, maybe? - Freeform, mentions of abuse, my friends and i's ocs are wack af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancnome/pseuds/ancnome
Summary: Alarms blaring were definitely not what Imogen or Dakota wanted to hear. After all, the plan was supposed to be flawless and airtight: get in, get the serum, get out. When an eccentric brunet fell into their plan (quite literally), they had to think up something, and fast.-a prequel/my take on "Jailbreak" by Noviiko-(this was also published on wattpad don't come for me)
Relationships: Dakota Ryans/Brooklyn West, Darkiplier/Imogen Mendoza, Heistiplier/Imogen Mendoza, Mark Fischbach/Brooklyn West, Mark Fischbach/Imogen Mendoza
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is also a playlist linked to my OC in this story! It's on Spotify and my username is @durbansky, the playlist is called "Imogen" and contains a lot of music that fits her & this story

Alarms blaring were definitely not what Imogen or Dakota wanted to hear. After all, the plan was supposed to be flawless and airtight: get in, get the serum, get out. When an eccentric brunet fell into their plan (quite literally), they had to think up something, and fast.

Dakota had just gotten her hands on the serum and the two girls were about to head out and close out their plan when he came crashing through the glass ceiling. Instinctively, both girls turned on him, weapons drawn and aimed at the stranger. That's when the alarms started because, apparently, crashing through a highly secure building with no rhyme or reason is a major security breach.

"Who the hell are you?" Imogen questioned the man, gun pointed at him and unwavering. Her golden-brown eyes bore into the man's skull; any outsider would assume she was staring into his soul with how intimidating she was.

The man picked himself up off the floor, quickly brushing himself off.

"Name's Mark, pleasure to meet you," he introduced himself. "Now I'd love to stay and chat but unfortunately the cops are on their way so if you could just hand over that serum and I'll be on my way."

Mark held out his hand, a shit-eating grin on his face. It was almost as if he expected the girls to just do as he'd ask without them putting up a fight.

"And why should we do that?" Dakota asked, protectively shoving the serum into her bag.

Mark watched her closely, as if planing in his head how to steal it from them. He stepped towards them and they stepped back in turn.

"Uh, because I asked?" He let out a small giggle. He clearly wasn't taking this seriously.

The girls were on edge now, grips tightening on their weapons as they stared Mark down. Imogen opened her mouth to retort back to Mark when she was interrupted by sirens outside. All three turned in the direction of the sound, Dakota and Imogen exchanging a look before bolting.

"Hey, wait up!" Mark shouted, stumbling after them. He was barely able to keep up as the two girls easily ran through the building, skirting around and avoiding obstacles as if they'd done it a million times.

The sirens got louder and they could hear shouting from the officers as they entered the building, but the girls knew exactly what to do and where to go. After all, they'd taken every possibility into account. Well, almost every possibility.

Mark, on the other hand, was winging it. He had had almost no plan when he'd decided to steal the serum, but he was lucky enough to have Imogen and Dakota when he did. He'd probably be in jail otherwise.

Imogen led the three of them towards a closing security door, gracefully sliding under it. Dakota followed soon after, and then Mark, who almost got his head chopped off after stumbling to the ground.

They were now outside of the building, but they were most definitely not out of the woods. The police sirens were even louder on the outside, and the group was moments away from being found out.

"This way," Imogen said, surprisingly calm for their current situation.

She led the trio through the dark streets swiftly and quietly, dodging in and out of shady alleyways. She had the route ingrained into her brain, having studied and walked it for weeks before actually executing their plan. After what seemed liked hours of running, and, eventually, walking, Imogen stopped in a dark alleyway.

She let out a sigh of relief, smiling wide at Dakota, who gave her two thumbs up. The police sirens had died down long ago, and they were far enough away to be relaxed again.

"You've got it, right?" Imogen asked Dakota after a moment of catching their breath.

Dakota nodded and started digging in her bag. Her digging became more frantic when she realized she couldn't find the serum, head shooting up to look at Imogen for explanation. Imogen looked just as shocked, and as both girls looked around, their eyes landed on Mark. They'd completely forgotten about him, and immediately assumed he'd taken the serum.

Imogen stormed up to him, the infuriation in her eyes directly contrasting with the soft pink of her hair. Shit, Mark thought, he'd pissed off the wrong person.

"Look, I can explain—"

Imogen didn't wait for an explanation, and before he could process it, her fist had connected with his cheek, sending him tumbling to the ground.

"Give me the serum or there's more where that came from," Imogen threatened. Dakota had run to her side, cautiously holding Imogen's arm to keep her from throwing any more punches.

Mark just stared up at Imogen with something between awe and confusion. Oh, he liked her. Rubbing the side of his face, he got a better look at Dakota as well. He could see the anger in her different-colored eyes, but she was nowhere near as enraged as Imogen.

"Why do you guys want it so bad?" Mark asked, rubbing his face where he'd been hit.

"Because we found it first," Imogen sassed, taking another step forward. "Now hand it over."

Mark looked between the two girls, propped up on one arm as he tried to rid the sting from his newly injured face. Was that blood he tasted in his mouth?

"How about we make a deal?" Mark suggested, smiling the widest he could with what pain he was in.

Imogen pulled her arm back as if to hit him again, but Dakota held her back as Mark recoiled in fear. The two girls exchanged a look and Imogen sighed, letting her guard down.

"Fine," Imogen gave in. "What's your deal?"

She crossed her arms, watching Mark carefully as Dakota helped him up. Mark gave her a thankful look but didn't say anything, looking into Imogen's face for any vulnerability, but her expression was cold and unmoved.

Mark cleared his throat, clasping his hands together. "I was thinking, I give you the serum, and you join my little team I'm getting together," he suggested.

"What kind of team?" Imogen asked, casting a quick look at Dakota, who looked just as lost as the two of them felt.

"Well, I saw what you guys did back there and I want you to join my band of thieves." Mark let out a stupid giggle, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I mean, clearly you can do better so let me help you out. It's a win-win scenario."

Dakota scoffed in disbelief at his statement that he could teach them a thing or two. Imogen was just as astounded by his stupidity, but raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Give us the serum first, and you have a deal," Imogen spoke after a moment of thought. Dakota gave her a shocked look.

Mark pumped his fist in the air, letting out a loud "Yes!" as he did so. Imogen cleared her throat and he apologized, reaching into his bag to grab the serum, handing it over to Dakota as he shook hands with Imogen, who looked significantly more relaxed once the serum was back in their possession.

"Let's get this back to Cassy," She said quietly to Dakota.

Mark perked up at the sound of another name, sidling closer to the two girls.

"You have more friends?" He asked, eyeing the serum again.

The two girls exchanged a glance, Dakota carefully putting the serum back into her bag and away from Mark's prying eyes.

"She's more like our little sister," Dakota explained. "But she needs this serum, and now that we have it, we'll be on our way."

She gave a curt nod to Mark, turning to walk away, but Imogen stayed, eyeing Mark closely. After a moment, she reached into her pocket, handing over a business card.

"We made a deal, so that's my contact info," she said. "But only contact me if it's absolutely necessary, or I will block your number."

Mark nodded as he examined the card. Whoa, he thought, she had a Ph.D.? And she was robbing science institutions? Now he really liked her. He looked up from the card, only to find both girls had disappeared. Letting out a huff, he put the card in his pocket and headed off as well.


	2. Chapter 2

Not even a week had passed before Mark contacted Imogen. She was in the middle of distributing the serum they'd stolen to Cassy, the 15-year old she'd taken in after a science experiment gone wrong, when her phone began ringing. At first, she just let it ring out, needing to have all her focus on helping Cassy, but after 3 calls, she let out a sigh.

"Dakota!" Imogen shouted across the living room. "Can you please see who the hell is calling me?"

Dakota stumbled out of her room, letting out a yawn as she trudged across the room and towards the ringing phone. Once Dakota answered, Imogen got back to what she'd originally been doing, explaining to Cassy how it was gonna work. The 15-year old just looked up at her with her bright green eyes and a smile, taking a deep breath as Imogen inserted the syringe into her arm.

"You doing okay?" Imogen asked once she was done.

"Just peachy!" Cassy exclaimed, a toothy smile crossing her face.

Imogen laughed and patted Cassy's head as she got up to clean up the little science station she'd set up.

"Alright, well, let me know if you start feeling off, alright? Sometimes these medications will make you feel worse before you get better."

Cassy nodded and bounced towards the TV, turning it on and flipping through the channels to find something decent to watch.

As Imogen entered the kitchen to throw away the trash, Dakota walked up to her with her phone in hand, a mild look of concern on her face. Imogen took the phone without question, worry crossing her face as she answered.

"Hello, this is Dr. Mendoza speaking, may I ask who's calling?" She formally introduced herself.

"Ah! Imogen! I'm so glad I got a hold of you, I was starting to think you were ignoring me." It was Mark. Imogen let out an exasperated sigh as he kept talking. "Also, you have a Ph.D.? That's so cool! So are you a doctor or—"

"Mark."

"Because that's awesome, like major preesh to you—"

"Mark."

"I mean, not saying that I don't think you couldn't do it but—"

"MARK!"

Imogen's shout seemed to shake the entire household, Cassy and Dakota looking at her in shock from the living room. She gave them an apologetic look before turning back to the conversation at hand.

"Why did you call me, Mark?" Imogen asked with a sigh.

Mark cleared his throat, perturbed that she'd yelled at him. "Well, you see, there's an art opening at the next place I want to hit, and I kind of need a date to it—not that I'm asking you out on a date! I mean, unless you wanted to?"

Imogen sighed again, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "When is it?"

"Tonight."

Imogen almost dropped her phone in shock. "Tonight?" She repeated, trying to fathom how he could've waited so long to ask.

"Yeah, is that a problem?" Mark seemed completely oblivious to the fact that it was, yes, a problem.

Imogen paused for a moment, trying to decide what she was going to do.

"No, no," she eventually gave in. "That's fine. What time do you want me to be there? And is there a dress code?"

"I'll pick you up at 6!" Mark replied, excitement clear in his voice. "Dress code is formal! Text me your address! Okay, bye!"

Mark hung up before Imogen had the chance to ask more questions, huffing in frustration as she looked at her phone. It was almost 3 in the afternoon, leaving her with around 3 hours to get ready.

"Well, here goes nothing," Imogen muttered to herself, walking back into the living room.

"Was that Mark?" Dakota asked, though she already knew. After all, Imogen had yelled his name multiple times. "What does he want?"

Imogen plopped down on the couch in between the two girls, laying her head on Dakota's shoulder. Cassy took this chance to lay down with her head in Imogen's lap, kicking her legs over the arm of the chair.

"He needs me to go with him to scout out a new location to possibly steal from," Imogen explained. "But it's during a high-end art gallery opening at the museum downtown, tonight, at 6."

Dakota gave her an incredulous look, as if she couldn't fathom that what Imogen was saying was true. Imogen just smiled at her wryly. She was, unfortunately, dead serious.

"Are you sure this Mark guy's to be trusted?" Cassy asked, a pout forming on her lower lip. "From what you told me about him, you know, how he tried to steal the serum you stole, he doesn't seem like a good person."

Imogen sighed and looked down at Cassy, giving her forehead a small pat.

"I made a promise, unfortunately," she explained. "And you know I'm not one to break promises."

Cassy rolled her eyes, attention directed back to the TV. The three of them sat like that for a while until Imogen fell asleep.

After a well-deserved nap and shower, Imogen recruited the help of Cassy and Dakota to get her ready. Despite being told about the plans the day of, Imogen luckily enough had been to enough high-end parties and conferences to have a decent amount of formal wear. She may have resorted to stealing at times, but Imogen was a well-known and revered psychologist who had brought about many changes within the psychological system, despite being out of school for just over a year. She'd worked her ass off to get where she was at that moment, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to keep her status.

"Hey, Dakota, can you help me out real quick?" Imogen called from her bathroom, struggling to get her necklace on.

Dakota walked in moments later, giving a playful whistle as she looked at Imogen. She was in a form-fitting, off-the-shoulder black dress, a slit from the hem to her mid-thigh. The dress had no back and showed off the tattoo on her spine, a phrase written in morse code. Her right arm was adorned with a simplistic monochrome tattoo of an anemone flower, her left showed one simple golden bracelet and a gaudy ring on her index finger.

"Are you still sure this is a good idea?" Dakota asked as she clasped Imogen's necklace around her neck.

"Would I walk into something I couldn't handle?" Imogen asked, smiling at Dakota through the mirror. Dakota shook her head. "Plus, you know I always come prepared."

Imogen pulled the slit in her dress back to reveal a knife holstered on her leg. Just a precaution in case things were to go to shit.

Dakota sighed, but a small smile crept onto her face. "I guess you'll be fine, so let me do your hair. Please?"

"How could I say no?" Imogen laughed.

She watched as Dakota parted her faded pink hair into two separate braids, eventually twisting them into Imogen's signature space buns at the very end. She finished off her look with a pair of golden hoop earrings and a dark red lipstick, her eyes highlighted by the golden-red eyeshadow she'd chosen.

"How do I look?" Imogen asked, standing up to give Dakota a better look. She still hadn't put her shoes on, but who would want to wear high heels longer than needed?

"Like you're gonna be cold," Dakota joked, walking towards Imogen's closet. "You know what color Mark's wearing?"

Imogen followed her, pulling out her phone to show Dakota the picture Mark had sent her. He was in an all-maroon suit, complemented by a maroon turtleneck of the same color.

"You think he likes maroon?" Dakota asked playfully, laughter coming from the two of them.

"I bet he hates it," Imogen replied sarcastically, creating more laughter.

Dakota began to look through Imogen's closet, eventually pulling a matching maroon fur shawl out. The two of them examined it before deciding it was probably the best they were gonna get.

"Huh, who would've thought you'd actually have something to match," Dakota quipped as she placed the shawl on Imogen's arms.

"You'd be surprised by what I have in there," Imogen responded, giving Dakota a thankful look.

Picking up her shoes, the two girls headed back downstairs, where Cassy was still passed out on the couch. Imogen checked the time on her phone: 5:53 PM. Mark would've been there any minute, so Imogen put on her shoes, stumbling a bit as she tried to get used to walking.

"Ugh," she complained. "I haven't worn heels in god knows how long."

"Well, on the bright side, you look stunning," Dakota said, causing Imogen to blush a little.

"You're too sweet—" The doorbell rang, waking Cassy with a start. Imogen leaned over to give Dakota a small kiss on the cheek and a reassuring smile before opening the front door. She smiled at Mark but waved her hand to tell him to wait a moment.

"I'll be back later. If you two need anything just text me, okay?" Imogen said.

Dakota nodded and Cassy gave a tired wave. Imogen smiled at the two and stepped outside to join Mark, closing the door behind her.

"Well, then," she said with a breathy sigh. "Let's go scout ourselves a museum, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternative dialogue for heist time gc because they held me at gunpoint:
> 
> Dakota; What's the fucking situaaaaation
> 
> Imogen: I got a mf DATE
> 
> Dakota: U got ur knife?
> 
> Imogen: You know I keep that mf thang on me


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .. --. -. --- .-. .- -. -.-. . / .. ... / -... .-.. .. ... ...

Mark led Imogen into the museum, her eyes already scanning every inch of the building for any ideas for their plan. Then again, she still had no idea what they would actually be stealing. Either way, she remained latched onto Mark's arm, taking in the art surrounding her. That's why they were here after all, at least in the eyes of outsiders. As they made their way through the building, they attracted glances and stares from the other patrons, unnerving Imogen slightly.

"Why is everyone staring at us?" She asked Mark in a whisper as they stopped in front of a painting, pretending to admire it.

"Oh, don't act dumb," Mark scoffed. "It's just because you're so incredibly gorgeous."

Imogen's face burned hot, and she brushed an imaginary hair out of her face to hide it. Was he flirting with her? Even after she'd punched him in the face? She was a little shocked but quickly regained her composure. Two could play at that game.

"Or, maybe it's because you just look absolutely appealing in red," she quipped, looking up at Mark through her lashes.

It was his turn to get embarrassed, clearing his throat as he tugged at his turtleneck. His face was almost as red as his suit, and quickly looked for a way out of this conversation. He could honestly say he had not expected Imogen to be just as flirtatious.

"Say, is it hot in here or is it just me?" He joked, leading the two of them to another painting. Maybe moving around would distract her.

"Oh, I think it's both of us," Imogen replied, a sly smirk creeping onto her face.

Mark stopped at the next piece of art, removing himself from Imogen's grasp. He was clearly flustered, almost to the point that Imogen had to keep herself from laughing. She couldn't believe he was acting the way he was when he was the one to start the chain.

"I'll be right back," Mark said, taking a deep breath. His face was still red and he was avoiding looking Imogen in the eye. "Would you like a drink?"

"Just red wine is fine, thank you," Imogen replied with a softer smile.

Mark nodded and walked off. Imogen turned back, admiring the large-scale image in front of her. It was a photograph of a patch of anemone flowers, the sunlight illuminating them just right to bring out their vibrant red color. Imogen was confused, looking down at the tattoo on her right arm. These flowers weren't well known and hard to find and even get close to due to their rarity. And yet, somehow, this photographer found them right outside a prison.

Perturbed, Imogen turned to direct her attention to another piece of art when she made eye contact with another patron staring at her. He looked oddly familiar, the dim light he was standing in making his skin look almost grey. She tiled her head, aiming to get a better look at the man when she was interrupted by Mark returning with drinks.

"Sorry about the wait!" Mark apologized, handing Imogen her wine glass.

She took it and immediately looked back to where the man had been standing, only to find he was gone. Her shoulders dropped in disappointment, and she blinked, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

"Hey, you alright?" Mark asked, gently setting a hand on Imogen's shoulder, causing her to jump slightly.

"Yeah, sorry, I just thought I saw someone I knew," she apologized, turning back to Mark. "But anyways! Shall we continue our date?"

Mark blinked. "D-date?" He stuttered. "I thought we were here to scout the museum?"

"I'm just messing with you," Imogen laughed. "We are here to scout, but maybe we can go on a date another time. Sound like a plan?"

"O-oh! Uh, Yeah! I mean, yes! Of course! I'd love to go on a date." Mark was becoming more and more flustered with every word that came out of Imogen's mouth, and she was enjoying seeing him so wound up.

"Sounds like a plan, now let's keep walking."

Imogen held her arm out for Mark to take. The two walked through the gallery in silence for a couple of minutes, taking in the art as well as the layout of the museum.

"Oh, by the way, I've been meaning to ask," Mark paused as they passed by one of the museum docents. "What does the morse code on you back mean?"

"Ignorance is bliss."

Mark wanted to ask exactly what she meant, but the look on her face told him that it was either up to him to decipher or she just didn't feel like he needed to know. Truth was, it was both.

"So, what exactly are we after?" Imogen asked after a moment. She was beginning to form a plan in her head, but she needed to know what exactly they wanted first. Nothing had caught her eye yet, but then again, who knew what Mark could've decided on.

"We're coming up on it, hold on."

The pair walked for a couple more minutes before coming up on a pair of vault doors, heavily secured by a computer system as well as two guards.

"It's in there," Mark whispered into her ear. "It's highly valuable and heavily secured, and we're going to steal it from right under their noses."

He let out a triumphant chuckle and continued to lead them through the museum. The whole time, Imogen felt a pair of eyes burning into the back of her neck, but every time she turned to see who was looking at her, the prying eyes would disappear. Mark seemed perfectly fine, on the other hand, and didn't seem to notice Imogen's obvious paranoia.

As they neared the end of the gallery, Imogen began to relay her observations to Mark.

"There's a lot of ways to get in here," she began. "Everything from the multitude of windows to the employee doors. Their online security systems seem pretty basic as well, but I'd have to come back another day to get a closer look. Not to mention, their guards aren't the most intimidating. They look new, and they each have only 6 rounds in the guns. The fact they have guns is a concern, but we can work on that later."

Imogen paused, looking at Mark to make sure he was still following. The attentive look on his face said he was.

"Cameras are going to be a breeze to take down. They're from the '90s; haven't been replaced in over 20 years. Getting into the vault is going to be the hardest. It requires two keys to be present to be opened, and the guards have the keys on their person at all times. It might be hard to take them out, but with at least four of us on the team, it should be easy." She paused for a moment to make sure she'd covered everything. "I'll also come by a few nights a week to get an idea of the guards' schedules. After that, we should be set. Sound good?"

Mark stared at her in absolute awe, a goofy smile plastered on his face. He'd chosen the perfect partner for his schemes. Imogen just laughed at the face he'd made.

"I mean, I knew you were irresistibly ravishing, but you're incredibly smart too?" Mark let out a low whistle, earning an eye roll from Imogen. "I'd say I'm a pretty lucky man."

Imogen playfully punched his arm. "We're still just partners in crime," she corrected him. "I mean, we haven't even had our first date yet."

Mark laughed, having finally regained his confidence to not be as flustered by Imogen's attempts to flirt. He led the two of them out of the gallery and the museum, getting one last look at the outside of the building before turning back to Imogen.

"So, uh, you wanna go on that date?"

"I'd love to."


	4. Chapter 4

It was supposed to be a normal date: dinner, a movie, then a nice stroll among the stars. They never made it past the movie. Imogen had chosen the horror movie, assuming something to get the adrenaline pumping would be a good experience for her and Mark. How wrong she was.

She now stood in an endless black void, a light layer of water splashing at her heels as she stepped around, trying to become accustomed to the sudden darkness. She tried closing her eyes and reopening them to adjust better, but nothing happened. Slowly, a loud ringing reached her ears, growing louder and louder by the second until it became almost unbearable.

Imogen clasped her hands over her ears to stop the ringing but it only grew louder and louder and louder until it was interrupted by a voice.

"Did you miss me?"

It was almost a whisper and yet deafeningly loud. Imogen whipped around for any sign of who could've spoken, but there was no one there. No one she could see, at least.

"I missed you...very much."

Imogen turned once more, water splashing onto her leg by her sudden movements. She was beginning to panic more now, the darkness enveloping her driving her mad. Putting her hands over her ears, she tried to drown out the loud ringing in her brain.

Suddenly a figure appeared in front of her, the edges of her eyesight glowing red and blue as she stared at him. He wore a grey suit, his dark hair falling into his face. He seemed utterly calm, except when his presence glitched. Wait, what?

Imogen blinked a couple of times to get a better look at the figure, wondering how in the world she knew him and how he was physically glitching out of reality.

"I've been waiting a long time to see you again," he spoke again, his voice echoing and head tilting in an almost curious way. "I've been pushed aside, replaced...mocked."

A pause as Imogen continued to stare at him. He continued his monologue, creating more and more questions the more he spoke. Imogen took a small step forward, the ringing in her ears growing slightly louder.

"Well, make a decision," the man prompted, subtly looking Imogen up and down. "Show me what you've got, and maybe we'll have a nice date after all."

He smiled coolly as Imogen glanced around yet again, searching the void for any answer to where she was and how she could get out.

"I just want my freedom," she declared after a moment.

"Good choice, but why do we need to choose in life?" It was a rhetorical question, of course, but Imogen didn't even get a second to process what was happening before she was suddenly sitting at a table across from the stranger. Her head whipped around frantically before finally making eye contact with the man. He looked so oddly familiar, but once again, Imogen had no time to question anything before the man continued speaking.

Imogen had begun to drone him out when he suddenly snapped, becoming more threatening than the cold figure she'd been dealing with moments earlier. Taken aback, she tried to get up from her seat, but some unseen force was keeping her there.

"You just need to let me in." The man reached across the table, setting his hand on Imogen's. It was oddly cold yet comfortingly soft, and Imogen was conflicted about how to feel about the whole situation.

As expected, she didn't get much time to process anything before suddenly being transported back onto her feet, outside this time. She stumbled a bit as she adjusted to standing so soon, noticing that the world around her was colorless and dark, and the man standing in front of her was the same man that'd been staring at her that one night at the museum. Was he stalking her?

Suddenly, a familiar face collided with the strange man, and Imogen stumbled back as the world suddenly came back into its vibrant colors, the two men battling it out just feet away from her. Finally able to understand her surroundings, Imogen looked around once more for any way out of or to help her current situation. She was about to advance on an idea when a gun landed at her feet.

Heart racing, she almost instinctively picked it up, hands shaking ever so slightly as she held it. Her gaze rose to the two men again, who were now standing right next to each other and looked...exactly the same? What the hell was going on?

Both men rambled about why Imogen needed to shoot the other, but indecisive as she was, Imogen had no clue which one was the real Mark and which one was the imposter who'd imprisoned her in a terrifying void. Slowly raising the gun, Imogen looked between the two, finger on the trigger, and shot the one to her left.

He fell to the ground with a groan and Imogen stared at his unmoving body, panic setting in again. She'd just shot somebody. She felt sick, dropping the gun as she swayed slightly.

"Woah, woah, hey!" Mark raced over, holding her steady. "You alright? You just had to kill somebody." 

Imogen just shook her head slightly, still reeling from what had just happened as Mark helped her start walking.

"But, hey," he continued. "It's okay, we're here now, let's continue our date with some ice cream, alright?"

Imogen shook her head again, hand clutching onto Mark's jacket as if her life depended on it. 

"I want to go home, Mark," she said, her voice coming out in such a small whisper that Mark didn't hear her.

She tuned out what was happening, ears still ringing from the gunshot. There was only one train of thought going through her mind as Mark helped her sit down: She shot someone. She shot someone. What was she thinking? Weird entity or not, she had no right to be shooting anyone, especially with her past—

"–go ahead!" Mark's voice broke Imogen out of her trance, and she blinked up at him. He gave her a warm smile and she relaxed, looking down at the bowl in front of her. She didn't even like chocolate. Mark knew that.

Imogen's head shot up, her surroundings changing in a blink to reveal the man that had trapped her in the void earlier that day. No, not again, she thought, she couldn't deal with this again. 

Tears began to stream down her face as she was teleported once more to this stranger's dimension, falling to her knees. The cool water was shock enough to make Imogen realize what had really happened. She'd shot Mark.

Eyes wide, Imogen pushed herself to her feet, unfazed by the water soaking into her pants. Her head whipped around, searching for any sense of direction. She'd shot Mark. No, she corrected herself, that bastard made her shoot Mark.

"Looking for me?" The man appeared in front of her suddenly.

Imogen was enraged, fearing for Mark's life as well as her own. Neither she or the man had time to process what was happening before a loud crack echoed through the void.

Imogen looked down at the man who was now on the floor, cradling his cheek. His form glitched more than before as he slowly stared up at her, anger evident in his eyes, and, yet, they masked something else. 

"Take me back," Imogen demanded through clenched teeth.

The man just scoffed at her. "Why?" He asked. "Mark is dead. You killed him."

Imogen's hands balled into fists at her side and it took everything in her power not to punch him again. 

"No, he's not, actually," Imogen stated, her anger overtaking her fear. "I know how to handle a gun, I simply shot him in the shoulder, somewhere vital enough to hurt him bad enough but not kill him. Now take me back."

The man rose to his feet, staring down at Imogen. He had a few inches on her, and though she was intimidated, she stared right back. As he raised his hand, Imogen feared the worst, but he simply snapped his fingers, dropping Imogen back where she'd begun.

She blinked a few times to adjust to the sudden burst of light, looking around to get a better sense of her surroundings. Once her vision had cleared she laid eyes on a body on the ground, rushing over to them. She knelt down next to him and started applying pressure to the gunshot wound before she started apologizing.

"Oh my god, Mark, I'm so sorry, I had no clue what to do! I-I panicked—"

Mark shut her up by pressing his index finger to her lips, a pained smile on his face as he spoke:

"Take me to the hospital."


	5. Chapter 5

Mark was in the hospital for a little over a week. Luckily for him, Imogen wasn't bluffing when she'd told the strange man she knew how to handle a gun; she'd shot Mark just clear of his clavicle and any major arteries. Granted, he was still decently injured (as to be expected when being shot), and, when questioned by the nurses, he simply stated that he'd accidentally been shot during a drive-by. The nurses didn't believe him, but didn't press further or get the police involved, much to both Mark and Imogen's relief.

Imogen had offered to take care of Mark once he was discharged, as he'd admitted to living alone at the time, and Imogen had plenty of room in her home.

The girls weren't too happy about it.

"Are you sure you can trust this guy?" Dakota asked. Imogen and Mark had just gotten home, Mark already asleep in one of the bedrooms.

Imogen sighed as she plopped down onto the couch. "He's trustworthy, Dakota, stop worrying. Plus, he'll only be here for a few days 'til he's better, then he'll be on his merry way."

Dakota eyed Imogen carefully as she turned on the TV, noticing a small bruise on her knuckles. She was going to question Imogen but quickly decided against it, seeing how exhausted she was. The local news droned in the background of Dakota's mind as she left the living room and headed outside to clear her head.

Some time passed before Imogen finally pried herself off the couch. As she made her way through the house she noticed Dakota still outside, practicing her baseball hits. Cassy was with her, running back and forth to collect the balls Dakota was hitting. They were smiling and laughing, and as tempted as Imogen was to join them, she needed to check on Mark.

The house was eerily quiet as Imogen climbed the stairs to the second story. She looked around, feeling uneasy, but nothing was out of place. Her vision seemed to glitch as she walked down the hall to the room where she'd placed Mark, but she paid no mind to it. 

Knocking on the door, Imogen waited a moment before opening it and stepping into the room. Mark was still asleep, a bloodied bandage covering his right shoulder. A moment passed before Imogen sat next to him on the bed, the sudden dip in the mattress waking Mark. He blinked a couple of times before yawning and attempting to stretch, quickly recoiling when he moved his right arm.

"Good evening, sleeping beauty," Imogen mocked him playfully, a tired smile crossing his face.

"How long was I out?" Mark asked, his words slurring together as he struggled to stay awake.

"Just a couple hours, but we need to change your bandage," Imogen explained, poking his right arm.

Mark faked an exaggerated "Ow!" at Imogen's action, chuckling slightly as she rolled her eyes. He sat up slowly, the blankets falling off his bare chest, causing Imogen to quickly avert her gaze as her face grew warm.

"What?" Mark laughed. "Never seen a guy shirtless before?"

Imogen cleared her throat, rolling her eyes to hide her mild embarrassment. "Yes, but, I just, uh, I—"

She continued to stutter, unsure of what to do with herself until Mark set his hand on her shoulder. Her eyes shot up to meet his, face growing hotter with every passing second, but his eyes were warm, a calming smile on his face. Imogen relaxed.

"It's normal to be nervous, you know that, right?" Imogen nodded. "I mean, if anything, I should be nervous around you! You shot me for fuck's sake!"

"I'm really sorry about that, by the way, I—"

"Imogen," Mark's tone grew mildly stern and Imogen shut up again, looking at Mark apologetically. He simply gave her another warm smile.

A moment of silence passed, the tension in the room growing so thick that Imogen felt that she could see it. Mark looked longingly into her eyes, his hands growing clammy as time passed. They both knew what they wanted.

"Can I–?"

Imogen cut him off with a nod and Mark leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. It was gentle and soft, rendering Imogen completely helpless. She had relaxed completely, leaning into Mark's hand on her cheek. His hands were strong and yet he held her as if she would break with one wrong movement. Reaching her hands up to his shoulders, Mark suddenly pulled away, hissing in pain. Imogen hadn't realized until then that she'd touched his wound.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" She apologized again.

Mark clutched his shoulder as she continued to apologize profusely, until, suddenly, he started laughing.

Imogen froze, unsure of what to say or do, utterly confused as to what was happening.

"I really like you, Imogen," Mark said in between laughs. "But please stop apologizing, I'm not mad at you."

"I'm sorry. I mean—shit!"

Mark burst into laughter again at Imogen's mistake, and, after a moment, she laughed with him. Their laughter died down after a moment, a little giggle escaping their mouths every so often. It was only then that Imogen remembered why she'd come to check on Mark in the first place.

"You know," she said, changing his bandage. "I wouldn't be entirely opposed if you wanted to stay in my room tonight, instead of alone in here."

Mark hummed slightly, wincing as Imogen applied pressure to the bandage in order to make sure it was secure.

"I think I'd like that," he replied, looking down at her. 

"Imogen! Where are you? Cassy got hurt!" 

Their moment was interrupted and Imogen sighed, shaking her head as she stood up.

"Well, I guess I've got to move on to my next patient now," she joked, earning a small laugh from Mark. "Put on a shirt and come downstairs, I promise the girls don't bite...hard." 

Imogen winked and laughed as she left the room, Mark smiling to himself. She was going to be the death of him.

—

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Imogen had asked Mark to help her make dinner for the four of them, seeing as she could barely cook toast without burning it. The girls were hesitant to trust Mark up until dinner, deciding he wasn't so bad simply because he could cook. It was their first good-tasting home-cooked meal in a long time.

Afterward, the four found their way to the living room. They had initially intended to watch a movie and go to bed, but Cassy had decided in the middle of the movie to instead play a board game. Needless to say, chaos ensued. Everyone's competitive nature got the best of them, and by the end of the night, no one knew who had won due to someone flipping the board. They all laughed off this outburst, Imogen making the executive decision for everyone to go bed, to which no one argued.

Imogen was just about to fall asleep when a crash from downstairs startled her awake. Sitting up, she looked over at Mark, who was sleeping peacefully and unbothered. Deciding against her better judgment, Imogen got up, quickly throwing a sweater and some shorts on before heading downstairs to investigate the noise. 

The house was dark and quiet, the only sounds coming from the creaking floorboards under Imogen's feet. She'd assumed maybe Cassy or Dakota had dropped something while grabbing a midnight snack, but after finding them both in bed, she feared the worst.

Imogen slowly made her way down the steps to the first story, phone flashlight in one hand and one of Dakota's bats in the other. Once downstairs, she investigated the kitchen first, flicking the light on and gripping the bat tighter. Nothing.

A sigh of relief passed Imogen's lips as she flicked the light back off, turning to head to the living room. Her steps slowed as she felt more uneasy, as if the darkness was growing darker. Steps away from the living room, Imogen's phone flashlight began to flicker, and when she tried to fix it, both the light and her phone shut off. Heart rate rising, Imogen set her phone on the nearest surface, unsure if it was a table or a couch. 

Holding the bat with both hands now, Imogen edged forward slowly, careful to not run into any furniture. Finally reaching the other end of the living room, she attempted to turn on the lights, but nothing happened. Imogen began to panic more, holding her bat in a ready position.

Imogen took a couple of steps forward but stopped immediately when a high-pitched ringing entered her ears. Her stomach sank. No, she thought, not again.

A light flicked on to her left and she spun toward it, recoiling the bat back to deliver a blow when, suddenly, she couldn't move.

"You should really put that bat down, you could hurt someone," the voice in front of her said.

He was sitting in one of her armchairs, a book in hand. He looked utterly bored to be there, and, yet, there he was. He wore the same grey suit from their first encounter, dark hair falling into his face, and, to Imogen's surprise, he seemed to be wearing eyeliner.

"Is that my thesis?" Was the only question that escaped Imogen's lips.

The man looked at the book in his hands, rereading the title before responding, "Yes. I found it interesting that you dedicated your entire life's work to dreams." He got up, shutting the book as he walked towards Imogen, who was still frozen in place. "It was interesting, I will admit, but why dreams, Dr. Mendoza? They're just unconscious desires and hallucinations while the body is shut down, are they not? Surely someone of your degree would know that."

Imogen grimaced, using every bit of her willpower to try to move, but to no avail.

"Who are you?" She asked, narrowing her eyes at the stranger.

"Oh, how rude of me," the man stuck his hand out, and with that movement, Imogen could move again. Her bat was gone, however. "My name is Darkiplier, but you may call me Dark."

His outstretched hand implicated that he expected a handshake, but Imogen stood her ground, glaring at him. She was seething with anger and hatred; he had tortured her, made her shoot Mark, insulted her life's work, and expected a civil handshake?

"Why do you keep following me around?" Imogen asked, crossing her arms. "First the museum visit, then my date, and now my home? I can and will call the police on you."

Dark laughed, but it was mirthless and mocking. His shell broke as he did so, an unnerving smile crossing his face.

"You know calling the cops on me won't work," he stated, setting Imogen's thesis back on her bookshelf. She watched him closely as he did so. "You're so smart, Dr. Mendoza, why act dumb? To trick me?" Dark scoffed. "You humans are so naive sometimes."

He reached up to touch her cheek, but Imogen quickly slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch me."

Dark was a bit taken aback, narrowing his eyes slightly as he looked at Imogen.

"Feisty, are we?" He mocked, readjusting his tie. "No matter, I should be on my way anyways."

"You never answered my question."

"Which was?"

"Why are you following me around?"

Dark smiled at her, but it was devoid of any emotion.

"You'll see in due time," he replied. "Sweet dreams."

And with that, he was gone. Imogen blinked and shaded her eyes as the living room lights turned on at his exit, the sudden light making her jump. Once adjusted, she walked over to the couch where her phone had fallen behind the pillows. She looked around the room again, confused at what had just occurred. She still felt uneasy, but her exhaustion got the best of her. 

Turning off the living room lights once more, Imogen headed back into her room, careful not to disturb Mark as she slipped back into bed. She stared at the ceiling, trying to comprehend who Dark was and what he could've possibly wanted with her. She didn't have much time to think, however, and she quickly fell into a peaceful sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

That was the last time Imogen got a good night's sleep. For months, Dark has been visiting her in her dreams and causing her emotional pain as well as physical exhaustion. Imogen had resorted to pulling all-nighters and only sleeping when she felt she absolutely needed to.

It was apparent she was losing sleep as well: she'd reduced her work hours, she rarely left the house, and she was falling behind in helping plan for the heist Mark was trying to pull off. Everyone noticed as well. Mark stopped by from time to time to stay the night and help the girls, Cassy kept her distance and tried to take care of Imogen the same way she'd helped her, and Dakota tried her best to find remedies and keep Imogen alive, essentially.

It was one of those days. Imogen had the day off from her work, splayed out of the couch with the TV droning in the background as she stared blankly at the wall. Her eyes began to droop, her breathing slowing as she drifted off. It was peaceful for a moment and she savored the feeling, but it was interrupted moments later by Dark's image flashing in her mind. She grimaced, embracing the worst, trying to wake up. She felt as though she was drowning, kicking at the water around her to try to reach the surface. She was almost there when a hand grabbed her shoulder and dragged her back down, Dark's laugh echoing around her.

"Wake up, Imogen, I know you can."

He was mocking her now, his voice becoming further away as she sank to the depths of whatever ocean she was submerged in. Her eyes began to droop again, accepting her fate, when a shout startled her to wake up.

"Imogen!"

Imogen woke up with a jump, eyes wide and breathing heavy. She looked up to see a concerned Dakota and Cassy standing over her. They looked at each other before Dakota sighed.

"Are you okay, Imogen?" Dakota asked, though she knew exactly what Imogen would reply with.

"I'm fine, don't worry about me," Imogen replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Dakota rolled her eyes. "Alright, get up." She reached down and pulled Imogen to her feet, keeping a hand on Imogen's arm in case she was unbalanced.

"I know something's up, but I'm not gonna force you to tell me because I know that's useless, so Cassy and I have decided to take you out for the day," Dakota explained.

"I don't know, guys, I really should get some work done—"

"You've been watching the news channel for six hours straight now, we're taking you out whether you like it or not."

Imogen huffed and rubbed her eyes. She wanted to argue and stay home, but she knew both Cassy and Dakota were too stubborn to give up.

"Fine," Imogen finally gave in, sighing in defeat. "I'll go get dressed. Where exactly are we going?"

Cassy and Dakota exchanged an excited look, a spark of mischief in their eyes. Imogen knew this would only lead to trouble, but she had stepped right into their game and had to play to win to get out.

"We already picked out an outfit for you!" Cassy said, hardly able to contain her excitement. "It's on your bed."

Imogen raised an eyebrow, eyeing her two roommates for a moment before sighing and heading up to her room. Just as Cassy had said, an outfit was laid out neatly on Imogen's bed, who looked it over with caution: a pair of shorts and a subtle nautical-themed shirt. Imogen cracked a small smile at the effort Cassy and Dakota had put in, taking as little time as possible to shower and get ready for a day out.

It wasn't long before the trio headed off on their day trip. Dakota drove, seeing as Imogen was too sleep-deprived and, frankly, wouldn't have even known where they were going. As they headed away from their secluded property, a pop song played faintly over the radio, all three girls staring out the windows. Dakota was focused on the road, Cassy watched eagerly as the environment and cars passed by, and Imogen was spacing out in an attempt to not fall asleep.

Dakota glanced over at Imogen as they reached a stoplight, gently setting a hand on her shoulder. Imogen flinched reflexively and turned to look at Dakota.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Dakota asked, her voice equally soft and concerned. "I know now might not be the best time, but I'm here for you."

Imogen managed a small smile, reaching up to pat Dakota's hand reassuringly.

"I know, it's just..." Imogen's voice trailed off as she struggled to find the right words. "It's been hard to unpack for even myself, which is saying something since I'm a licensed psychiatrist. I mean, I should know why my brain is so fucked up right now."

She let out a weak laugh. Dakota forced a pitiful smile, her eyes showing her true sympathy. She knew Imogen was deflecting to protect herself, but it still hurt to see her suffer.

The conversation ended there, not to be pressed further by either party. It was silent for a few minutes until Cassy struck up a conversation on some odd topic neither Dakota or Imogen truly understood, but they played along anyways.

It wasn't long before the trio reached their destination. Dakota parked the car and they all stepped out to be greeted by the sound of crashing waves and seagulls squawking and the bustle of people.

"The pier?" Imogen questioned, adjusting her sunglasses as she looked around.

"Yeah!" Cassy exclaimed, the most excited to be there. "It's the fun pier too! They've got carnival games and rides and good food that you regret the next morning!"

Imogen let out a small laugh, giving Cassy a shoulder hug as they looked out toward the shimmering waves.

"We thought it'd be good for you," Dakota stepped in. "The fresh air, the adrenaline from the games and rides, and, like Cassy said, the food that tastes so good but treats you so bad."

The three girls all laughed in unison, and for the first time in weeks, Imogen completely forgot all about her troubles. They made their way toward the pier, taking in and welcoming the sights and smells and sounds. They were about to reach the heart of the amusements when Dakota stopped the group.

"Just got an important text, one second," She said quickly, turning away from the other two. Imogen was mildly concerned while Cassy rocked back on her heels, watching a flock of seagulls fly by. It was only a couple of moments before Dakota walked back, a big grin on her face. "Sorry about that, just had to let someone know where we were at."

Imogen raised an eyebrow, opening her mouth to question Dakota when she was cut off.

"Hey, guys! Sorry, I came as fast as I could."

It was Mark, a big smile on his face and mildly out of breath. He walked over and enveloped Imogen in a hug, which she gladly returned.

"Well, this is a welcome surprise," Imogen said once the two separated. She smiled up at Mark, then to Dakota and Cassy.

"The girls said you were having a rougher day so they invited me to come help cheer you up!" Mark said.

He proceeded to greet Cassy and Dakota, engulfing them both in a big hug, to which Dakota just rolled her eyes. She still wasn't the fondest of him, but she was thankful he made Imogen happy, so she tried her best to tolerate him.

"Let's go!" Cassy exclaimed once freed from Mark's hug.

She skipped a couple of steps ahead as the other three followed at a normal pace. Eventually, Dakota rushed ahead to skip with her (though it was mainly to keep her out of serious trouble). As the four of them explored the pier, they stopped at almost every game and ride.

Mark was an expert at the games, winning multiple prizes for the girls. Cassy got the majority, a handful of different stuffed animals in her arms by the end of the night. Dakota had one small one, a silly-looking dragon that, though she initially declined, had begun to grow on her. Imogen also had one, a red snake prize that she hung around her neck. Mark had been especially eager to win the snake, claiming it was similar to a toy he had as a kid.

As for the rides, Imogen stayed off most of the rides for her own sake, but still enjoyed watching the other three go and enjoy themselves.

Towards the end of the night, the three had chosen a rollercoaster with a particularly long line, so Imogen had chosen to sit out and find some food for the group. As she searched around, a small shop caught her eye. It was slightly rundown with dark curtains and fairy lights in the windows, a neon sign revealing the name of the shop: Soulgenix. Intrigued, Imogen walked closer, barely hesitating before she stepped inside.

The inside was a lot more welcoming than the outside, a warm light illuminating the shelved walls and a strong scent making Imogen feel relaxed. She walked around, examining the products. It was mainly psychic-type merchandise, from tarot cards to crystals. Imogen had no clue what the purpose of each product was, but she was still intrigued by it all.

"Can I help you with anything?"

The voice made Imogen jump as she turned around. She was greeted by a woman slightly taller than her, her hair long and silver, though she didn't seem to be much older than Imogen.

"Uh, no, I think I'm alright," Imogen replied with a polite smile. "I'm just browsing for now."

The woman smiled and nodded knowingly, her presence giving Imogen a sense of security. She brushed down the front of her shirt as she continued to stand near Imogen.

"Would you like a tarot reading?" The shopkeeper offered. "You seem troubled, and I'd love to help."

Imogen glanced around before meeting the shopkeeper's eyes. They were a kind, light blue, and seemed awfully old for someone who physically looked to be in their late 30's maybe. Imogen had always been told that psychic readings were a scam and not to be trusted because the person would always be out for money and their own personal gain, and, yet, Imogen felt compelled to agree.

"Actually, yeah, I would," Imogen replied with a nod.

The shopkeeper smiled and waved for Imogen to follow her. The two walked into the back where a small, round table resided. It was covered with a starry cloth, a clear crystal laid off to the side. The space was illuminated by a small chandelier directly above the table, emanating the same warm glow as the rest of the lights in the shop. The shopkeeper sat down in one chair and set down her cards as Imogen took the other seat. After shuffling the cards, the shopkeeper laid them out face-down and asked Imogen to pick three.

The first was Strength reversed, then Temperance reversed, and, lastly, The Moon upright.

Imogen just blinked at the cards, unsure what to make of them. As she looked up, however, the shopkeeper seemed deep in thought, as if she was personally conversing with the cards. After a silent moment, the shopkeeper spoke.

"Strength Reversed," she pointed to the card to Imogen's far left. "It tells me you are experiencing major fear at this moment in your life, to the point where you have abandoned all that brings you joy.

"Temperance Reversed tells me this fear you are enduring has caused you more stress and anxiety, though all three stem from something in your life being out of balance. Temperance also warns there are multiple paths to finding the root of your fear and anxiety, and you must be cautious, as some paths will lead to more despair.

"The Moon Upright continues what Temperance warned, you must follow the correct path to uncover a hidden truth. Only then will you find relief."

Imogen's mind was racing at the shopkeeper's revelation, unsure of what to make of it.

"How do I know which path to take?" She asked, her voice growing mildly frantic. "What do you mean by hidden truth?"

The shopkeeper simply held up a hand, stopping Imogen from asking a million more questions. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath, consulting with the cards once more. Imogen watched impatiently, needing solid answers.

"Temperance tells me you will know which path is correct once you approach it," the shopkeeper explained once more. "And The Moon, though she speaks vaguely, tells me that someone close to you holds a dark secret you must uncover in order to find the hidden truth."

Imogen blinked once more, unsure of what to make of her whole situation. She had the inkling of an idea as to where she needed to start, and though it was small, it was something, and she knew she had to act on it fast, lest she stay tortured in her dreams forever.

"Are you alright?" The shopkeeper asked, looking at Imogen with worry. "I know readings can sometimes be hard to understand or handle, but I can try my best to help you."

Imogen nodded, rising to her feet. "Actually, I, uh, I think I got what I needed to hear, thank you."

The shopkeeper gave Imogen a warm smile, packing up her cards and leading them back into the main shop, where Imogen paid for the reading before stepping back outside and into reality.

Reality, however, meant that Imogen was greeted by pouring rain and thunder rumbling in the distance. People ran by holding anything they could find over their heads, desperate to get out of the rain. Imogen was lucky enough to be standing underneath the shop's overhang, but that didn't stop the rain from splashing onto her shoes.

A sudden buzzing in her pocket shocked her out of her trance, and she fumbled to take her phone out. It was a call from Dakota.

"Hey, what's up?" Imogen answered nonchalantly.

"What's up? Imogen, you haven't been answering your phone for the past half hour, we were worried about you!" Dakota exclaimed from the other end.

Shit, Imogen thought as she checked the time, Had she really been gone that long?

"Where'd this rain come from?" Imogen asked.

"Fuck if I know," Dakota scoffed. "It was super random, too, we were lucky enough to have just gotten off our last ride when it just started coming down. Where are you anyway?"

"I'm, um, outside a little tourist shop, I must've gotten distracted and lost track of time."

Dakota sighed on the other end of the line. "Alright, well, I'll pull up as close to the end of the pier as possible, you get your ass down here, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be there in a couple minutes, bye."

Dakota barely got to interject a goodbye before Imogen hung up. Looking back at the tarot shop, she lingered a moment, thinking about what she'd been told before heading out into the rain.


	7. Chapter 7

Imogen sat at her desk, deep in thought, leg bouncing up and down as she contemplated the cards in front of her. It had been a couple of days since her reading at the pier, and she'd since returned to purchase her own cards, desperate to understand what they meant. Yet, as she stared at the three cards in front of her: Strength reversed, Temperance reversed, and The Moon upright, she felt more lost than when she'd begun. The psychic had seemed so in touch with the cards, as if she was truly conversing with them, but Imogen just got the silence of the room and the anxieties in her head instead. Maybe it was a scam, she thought.

A knock at her door made her jump, swiveling her office chair toward the sound. It was Dakota, asking from the other side of the locked door if Imogen was alright, to which Imogen reassured her that she was. There was a pause before the sound of footsteps away from her office allowed Imogen to turn back around. Dakota and Cassy had been increasingly worried about Imogen as she isolated herself from them, both emotionally and physically. Imogen felt bad for pushing them away, but she knew better than to burden them with her problems.

Sighing, Imogen sat back in her chair, unsure of what to do with herself. She looked at the three cards laid out in front of her, then to the rest of the deck she'd placed off to the side. Imogen tapped her leg for a moment before reaching forwards to grab the next card in the deck: The Magician.

Imogen stared at the card in contemplation and concentration, about to research its meaning when her room suddenly went cold, the color draining from her vision. Imogen knew what to expect next, but still jumped when Dark appeared in front of her bookshelf.

"Come to torture me some more?" Imogen asked, voice dripping with resentment.

"No, you seem to be doing that to yourself well enough," Dark replied, motioning to the tarot cards on Imogen's desk. "I see that psychic got to your head, though it's not that hard, from my personal experience."

Imogen huffed angrily, angrily slapping the Magician card onto her desk.

"Alright, smartass," Imogen challenged. "Since apparently you know so much, why don't you help me out and tell me what these mean."

Dark raised an eyebrow, taking one glance at the cards before turning towards the bookshelf. He pulled one of Imogen's psychology books from the shelf, gingerly flipping through the pages.

"The cards represent the turmoil in your life," Dark explained as he continued to browse the book, a bored look on his face. "They're directing you to answers to all your questions but you don't know where to look." A pause as Dark returned the book to its rightful place. "And as much as I enjoy watching you suffer, I suppose I can direct you to the right path."

Imogen leaned forward expectantly, arms crossed over her chest as she tried to contain her anticipation.

"Have you asked Mark about his past?" Dark questioned, his shell cracking at the mention of Mark. "Have you ever wondered what he did before he became a thief? How he got himself there in the first place? Talk to him and maybe you'll find the answers you seek."

Imogen watched Dark for a moment, eyes narrowed as she contemplated his words. She wanted the answers right there and then, but Dark had a point. Imogen had never even thought to delve too deep into Mark's past, but it was mostly because she was afraid he'd delve into hers.

In the blink of an eye, Dark had disappeared again and Imogen's office returned to its original state. Turning back to her desk, Imogen cleaned up her cards, but kept The Magician near her.

Pulling her laptop back to the center of her desk, Imogen opened a new tab and typed in her search: Mark Fischbach.

At first, it all seemed pretty normal: Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, the likes of it. But as Imogen dug deeper, she found information that shocked her. Not only had Mark been an acclaimed actor in his early years, but he was riddled with scandals and money problems. Originally, Imogen tried to understand Mark's situation. She knew how the acting industry manipulated people into doing stupid things, and as far as money problems went, Imogen knew all too well what that was like.

Imogen was about to shut down her computer, feeling satisfied with what she'd found, when an article caught her eye:

Disgraced Actor Mark Fischbach at Center of Esteemed Mayor's Disappearance

Imogen sat up straighter, eyebrows creasing in confusion as she clicked on the link. What she read made her stomach drop. At the end of Mark's career, he'd hosted a private party for his closest friends in an attempt to fix his reputation, but the end of the next day, his three closest friends and his ex-wife had disappeared without a trace. Mark was the central suspect, but without any evidence, he was let go without any charges.

Imogen sat back in her chair, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Her mind was racing, unsure of where to start unpacking what she'd just learned.

A moment of silence passed before Imogen jumped to her feet and rushed into her room to get dressed. She needed answers and she needed them directly from Mark. Getting dressed in record time, Imogen was out the door before Dakota and Cassy could process what was happening.

Less than 30 minutes later Imogen was on Mark's doorstep, mind playing a million questions as she raised her hand to knock. Once she'd knocked, she started to grow anxious, realizing maybe she wasn't ready to hear the answers to her questions, but as Dark's words repeated in her head, she decided to power through it.

"Can I help you?"

Imogen snapped back to reality as the door opened and she was greeted by a tall, intimidating woman.

"Oh! I, uh, I was looking for someone but I must have the wrong house number," Imogen greeted her. "Do you know where Mark Fishbach lives?"

The woman smiled knowingly, nodding her head.

"We live together," She explained. "He's upstairs right now, let me go get him. Feel free to come on in!"

Imogen slowly stepped into the threshold of the house as the woman went upstairs. Imogen looked around, taking in her surroundings. There were some pictures and books here and there, but other than that and furniture, the house was lacking personality.

"He'll be down in a second," The woman explained as she made her way back towards Imogen, holding out her hand. "I'm Brooke, by the way."

"Imogen," she introduced herself, shaking Brooke's hand.

The two began to make small talk, neither wanting to endure an awkward silence while waiting for Mark. As the time dragged on Imogen grew mildly uncomfortable, anxious to get answers from Mark as soon as possible. She needed to know what he was hiding, why she was being tortured by Dark, why—

"So how did you and Mark meet?" Brooke asked, breaking Imogen from her thoughts.

Imogen let out a small laugh. "Well, I was working and he, quite literally, fell into my plans," she explained. "I had no choice but to keep him tagging along. We kept in touch after that incident and went on a couple of dates, you know, and the rest is history at this point."

She looked up at Brooke as she finished her explanation, taken aback by Brooke's puzzled look.

"Dates? As in, romantic?" Brooke asked/

"Um, yeah? Is there another kind?" Imogen asked, growing confused.

"No, no, just funny you should say that because—"

"Ah! Imogen! Just the person I wanted to see!" Mark's enthusiastic shout interrupted their conversation. "Come with me."

Imogen exchanged a look with Brooke before following Mark back up the stairs.

"So I see you've met my roommate," Mark said as they reached the top of the steps. There was a slight edge to his voice as he spoke.

"Yeah, she's nice," Imogen replied. "How long have you known her?"

"Oh, you know, a couple of months." Mark led them both into his office, shutting the door behind Imogen. "She's helping with the heist so you don't need to worry about her."

Imogen raised an eyebrow, wanting to ask what he meant, but she already had too many questions and no room for any more.

"So what's up?" Mark asked, plopping down in his office chair.

Imogen grabbed a regular desk chair from the other side of the room, sitting down with a small sigh.

"I had some questions to ask you."

"Okay, shoot."

"They're about your acting career."

Mark's face paled, his eyes showing the worry he'd been feeling since Imogen had arrived. Clearing his throat, he attempted to regain his composure.

"My acting career? What do you mean?"

"Cut the crap, Mark, I found out about your acting career. The money problems and minor scandals I can understand, but I want the whole story about why you go accused for the disappearance of your closest friends."

Imogen cocked an eyebrow, arms crossed across her chest as she watched Mark expectantly, waiting for him to explain. He fidgeted uncomfortably under her gaze, knowing by then that Imogen was not a force to be reckoned with.

With a sigh, Mark began his story. "It was years ago. My acting career was falling apart at the seams, I'd just gotten a divorce, my bank account was running dry, and I was alone."

He paused (though mostly for dramatic effect).

"I invited my closest friends over for a poker night, like we'd done back in college. It was myself, of course, my two childhood friends the Mayor, Damien, and the Colonel, William, and the District Attorney, whose name slips my mind.

"The night started out great, everyone was happy and we were all getting along. That is, until I explained the real reason why I'd invited them. Of course I wanted to mend our friendships, yes, but I also needed support to save my career.

"So I simply asked them if they'd back me up while I tried to get back on my feet. Damien, as expected, supported me no matter what. He was the only one. William turned against me, but I shouldn't have expected much considering he was the reason my wife had cheated on me. And in his drunken madness, he killed the Damien and the District Attorney. He tried to get me but I was lucky enough to escape with my life.

"He disappeared soon after, and no matter how much I testified against him, he was never found and I stayed the prime suspect until the case was closed.

"Since then I've been working on my own to fix my reputation and put the past behind me. Granted, it's been through disreputable means, but you get where I'm coming from, don't you?"

Imogen blinked as Mark put her on the spot, still processing what she'd been told.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I suppose I do," she nodded in agreement, much to Mark's relief.

"I'm so glad you understand," Mark said, letting out an exhausted sigh. "I'm sorry I kept my past secret from you, I just didn't want you to change your view on me."

Imogen gave him a weak smile, still unsure of how to feel about the whole situation. Sure, this is what she'd wanted, but she wasn't prepared for it at all. And Mark talked about it like it was nothing, like his best friends didn't get murdered.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," Imogen said suddenly.

She got up and walked out of Mark's office without another word, getting slightly lost before she found the bathroom. Once inside, she locked the door and pressed her palms to the countertops, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Something wasn't adding up, but she couldn't place what it was. Letting out a deep sigh, Imogen turned the sink on. The cold water on her hands felt nice, and she even splashed a little bit on her face, hoping it would help her refocus. Turning the sink off, Imogen looked around for a towel only to find none.

Hands and face dripping wet, she rummaged around the bathroom cabinets in an attempt to find a towel when something caught her eye. Crouched down, Imogen reached into the back of the cabinet, hand latching onto a corner of something. Imogen rose to her feet again as she examined the object in her hand, resorting to wiping the water off her face with her sleeve.

It was a picture frame, the actual image extremely dusty. As she wiped the dust off, Imogen froze. The image showed three men: Mark, a man dressed in safari hunting gear, and a man in a tuxedo with a lapel pin that read "Mayor". Imogen then deduced that the safari man must've been William, and the well-dressed man Damien. As Imogen looked closer at the image she nearly dropped the frame in shock. She couldn't believe what she was seeing, feeling lightheaded at the revelation.

Damien was Dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thank you to my good friend noviiko for helping me with this chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

Imogen paced around her office, wringing her hands nervously as she tried to think of a way to contact Dark willingly. She'd gotten her answers from Mark, but now she had even more questions that she needed the entity torturing her to answer. She stopped, looking at the picture frame on her desk. Imogen had been so shocked by what she'd found at Mark's house that she'd left without a word, secretly taking the picture frame with her.

Sitting down, Imogen pried the frame open and took the image out, trying to see if there was anything on the back or hidden in the picture, but she found nothing. Sighing in frustration, Imogen tried to think of any way to contact Dark.

Clutching the image, she stared at Damien and shut her eyes, begging in her head for Dark to show up and answer her. She hoped this would work. After all, he did say he was in her head. When she opened her eyes, there was nothing. I was the same image, her same office, no color change, and no sign of Dark.

Sighing, Imogen put the picture back in the frame and stood up. She was about to give up when something caught her eye. Turning, she found her tarot cards at the corner of her desk. Imogen hesitated a moment before grabbing the pack. She thought maybe it had been a coincidence that Dark had shown up the last time she was struggling with the cards, but she was willing to try again anyways.

Shuffling the deck, Imogen pulled the first card.

Death.

Imogen's face paled. She knew the card meant change as opposed to literal death, but it still intimidated her. Still, she pushed her feelings aside and clutched the card. Eyes closed, she slowed her breathing and focused on the image of Dark and his void in her mind.

As she opened her eyes, she saw nothing. Except, this time, there literally was nothing. Imogen blinked, trying to get adjusted to the sudden darkness. Taking a small step forward, water splashed onto her ankles, confirming she was in the right place.

"What are you doing here?"

Imogen spun around to face Dark, a grimace on his face. He looked more disheveled than normal, his suit jacket opened, dress shirt unbuttoned, and hair in his face more than normal.

"You look like a mess."

"Answer the question."

Imogen gulped, feeling mild fear as Dark stepped closer, cocking an eyebrow as he waited for an answer.

"I talked to Mark," Imogen explained, earning a scoff from Dark. "He told me about his past...and yours."

Dark glared at her, his shell cracking as he took another step forward.

"You know nothing about me or my past," Dark sneered, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Everything Mark told you is a lie. He told you it was William's fault, didn't he? But it wasn't, Mark was at his wits end and he made a deal with some...demon, and it ruined all of our lives. It's because of his own selfishness that I am the way I am now, why William's a chaotic disaster, why my dearest friend is dead."

Dark was now just a foot away from Imogen, towering over her as she slunk back in fear.

"Damien..." Imogen's voice came out in barely a whisper.

Dark froze, his usual intimidating and angry demeanor turned into to fear, sadness, and pain. Imogen was shocked by the reaction her one word had caused, how it made the entity that had been torturing her seem human.

But it was gone too soon. The anger returned to Dark's face and he shot a deadly glare at Imogen.

"How do you know that name?" He demanded.

"Mark told me," Imogen explained, voice shaking slightly. "He said you were the only one to support his attempts to fix his career, that you had been friends since childhood and he mourned your death—"

"SHUT UP!" Dark's shell shattered with his shout, the force of it shoving Imogen to the ground.

"Mark lied to you, do you understand me? He's built his entire life on lies and manipulation and for what? His own personal gain. He doesn't care about you, he never has! I tried to warn you, tried to protect you!" There was a long pause as Dark cooled off, letting out an exhausted sigh. "And now you know the truth. Are you happy?"

"Damien, I—"

"Don't call me that," Dark said, a pained tone in his voice and on his face. His shell was still glitching at the edges, showing his true instability.

"Dark—"

"Just...stop talking, please." He sounded so broken that Imogen felt genuinely sorry for him. She couldn't excuse the pain he'd made her endure, but she understood his pain, and she knew why he was so broken. That was her career, after all.

"I just want to help you, to understand." Imogen pleaded, pulling herself up off the floor. "I know you're suffering, I can help you get through it."

Imogen reached forward to grab Dark's arm but he stepped back out of her reach.

"Don't," he warned.

"Don't what?"

"Don't try to help me."

"Why not? Why don't you want my help?"

"Because you're too much like them."

"Like who?" Imogen was getting frustrated by his avoidance and vagueness.

Dark shifted uncomfortably, aura glitching as he debated his next words.

"Like....my previous partner, the district attorney. They..." Dark was struggling with his words, not wanting to seem too vulnerable. "They were my closest friend after Mark and I fell out, and they died because of him. I can't let another person fall victim to his horrible games."

Dark shook his head and grimaced, quickly clearing his throat and readjusting his suit jacket once he realized what he was doing. His shell returned to its normal state, back straightening in an attempt to regain his menacing composure.

"Dark, I had no idea that you were suffering this much," Imogen said. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't want your pity," Dark snapped angrily, though his eyes continued to show the pain he felt.

"Don't you, though?" Imogen questioned, mustering up the courage to step towards him. "Isn't that why you just opened up to me? Made me find out about Mark's past?"

Now she was a foot away from Dark, staring up at him with sympathy. His eyebrows furrowed at her, trying to decipher what was going on in her head. She reached over to hold his hand comfortingly, and, for a split second, Dark found himself allowing it. It was over as soon as it happened, however, as Dark quickly pulled his hand away and stepped back.

"Get out."

"Dark, I'm sorry—"

Imogen didn't get the chance to finish her sentence before she was forcibly pushed out of Dark's dimension, falling to the ground once again, though this time she was back in her office.

Imogen blinked hard as she looked around her office, adjusting to the sudden change in light. Slowly, she pushed herself back on her feet. She felt lighter and relaxed, and for the first time in months she felt as though she could breathe easier.

As she walked over to her desk, Imogen noticed that the there were books missing from her shelf, and the picture frame and her tarot cards were gone from desk. That is, all but one.

The Death card sat in the middle of her desk, facing up towards the ceiling. As she picked it up to inspect it, there was a short note written on the back:

Use this if you need me.

Imogen cracked a small smile, as disappointed as she was that Dark had ruined (and possibly stolen) her tarot cards.

A knock at her door shocked Imogen back to reality, and she slipped the card into her pocket as she turned toward the door.

"Are you okay in there, Imogen?" It was Dakota. "I heard a loud thud and got worried."

Imogen smiled wide as she opened the door, surprising Dakota.

"I'm fine, don't worry!" Imogen replied, and for the first time, she meant it. "Hey, what do you say I take you and Cassy out for lunch? It's been too long."

Dakota just stood there in shock. "O-Oh! Yeah! That sounds great!" She stuttered.

"Well, get ready! Let's go!" Imogen laughed and playfully punched Dakota's arm, leaving her standing in shock in the hallway as she headed down the stairs.

After a moment, Dakota smiled to herself. Imogen was back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song quoted & mentioned at the start of this chapter is When You're Bored by Joywave

"Every place, every day, there's bound to be some kind of trouble"

Joywave blared through the car's speakers as Imogen carried food out to the blanket Dakota and Cassy had set up. The trio had found a small, relatively secluded area of the beach to relax and have a picnic on; Dakota was attempting to brush the sand off the blanket while Cassy was already at the shoreline kicking up the water.

"I'm sure it's fine, Dakota," Imogen said, setting the food on the blanket and sitting down.

"I hate sand," Dakota retorted, forcefully swiping at the blanket. "It's coarse, and rough, and irritating, and it gets everywhere."

Imogen laughed and rolled her eyes. "Okay, Anakin, are you gonna eat your food or what?"

Dakota brushed off the blanket once more before giving in and sitting next to Imogen, gratefully taking the food from her. The two ate in silence a moment, watching as Cassy continued to enjoy the water. She was always so lively and full of energy that, at times, it tired Imogen out.

"We've missed you, you know," Dakota broke the silence, glancing over at Imogen. "We were worried about you, why the sudden change?"

Imogen pondered her question a moment, eyes fixated on the horizon. She'd known Dakota practically her whole life and, yet, she felt hesitant to open up about her recent experiences. Though she was a professional psychiatrist, she still had trouble opening up to other people, despite how much she knew her trauma would eat away at her if she didn't.

"You remember that date Mark and I went on? Not the museum but the actual official first date we went on?" Imogen asked. Dakota nodded. "Well, it started out fine. He was super nice, he took me to dinner and then a movie. He let me choose the movie and I chose whatever horror movie was playing because, you know, I love horror movies.

"Something went really wrong as the movie was starting. Mark disappeared and I was suddenly in some...void. Then this entity shows up and starts talking about 'missing me' and 'letting him in'. And then somehow Mark shows back up and we're jolted back to reality and there's a gun at my feet and...and I shot him. I shot him, Dakota."

Dakota stared at Imogen in partial disbelief and fear. "What do you mean you shot him? You told us he fell into some rocks."

"I lied. I didn't think it was a good time to talk about it. Clearly that was my mistake." Imogen shifted her sitting position, watching that Cassy was still far enough out of earshot before continuing. "It didn't stop there, either. The entity continued to torture me in my sleep for months. That's why I would lock myself in my room or my office for weeks on end; I wasn't getting any sleep and my work was failing.

"One day, after you guys surprised me at the pier, the entity visited me again and told me to investigate Mark, so, naturally, I did. I didn't like what I found so I went to his house to talk to him in person." There was a long pause. "I think he's cheating on me."

"He's what?" Dakota practically shouted, becoming visibly angry. "How do you know?"

"Well, like I said, I went to his house but a girl answered the door and when I told her Mark and I were dating she seemed kinda offended or uncomfortable, same with Mark when I asked him about it. He just like avoided the topic altogether."

Dakota looked like she was about to burst a blood vessel, her face red and contorted with anger. She clearly had some choice words but held her tongue, instead asking:

"What are you gonna do about it?"

Imogen shrugged, replying, "Dunno. I don't want to ask him about it directly because I'm sure he'll find some way to twist my words or avoid the question and, I mean, what if I'm wrong anyways?"

"Maybe talk to the other girl?" Dakota suggested. "I mean, if she seemed iffy about you saying you were dating Mark, maybe she'd be open to a conversation about it."

"That's actually a really smart idea, I'll try that."

Smiling, Dakota retorted, "Look, just because you have your Ph.D. and I didn't even go to college doesn't mean I can't be smart sometimes."

Imogen let out a small laugh and gave Dakota a playful shove. Their conversation carried into something more lighthearted as Cassy finally joined them, multiple seashells and sand crabs in hand. Imogen made her release the sand crabs, not wanting to accidentally find one in her food.

The day continued on and the three girls enjoyed it without a care in the world, spending it playing in the water and the sand, until, finally, they settled down to watch the sunset before heading back home.

The next morning, Imogen was up early so she could talk to Brooke before Mark returned home later that day. She'd texted him late the night before to confirm whether or not he'd be around that day, to which he replied that he'd be "running errands" for the majority of the morning.

Sitting in her car outside Mark and Brooke's house, Imogen nervously bounced her leg, gripping her purse tightly. Just as he'd said, Mark's car was nowhere to be found. It was now or never.

Getting over herself, Imogen stepped out of her car and headed to the front door, each step feeling heavier than the last. Before she knew it, she was at the door, hand cautiously placed over the doorbell. Should she ring? Or should she knock?

The door suddenly swung open and it was then that Imogen realized she'd accidentally been holding down the doorbell.

"Oh, Imogen, right?" Brooke asked. Her smile was welcoming, a stark contrast from her tall, muscular stature. "What's up? Mark's out of the house right now but he'll be back later this afternoon."

Imogen nodded. "Yeah, he told me. I, uh, I actually wanted to talk to you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, I just need to clear up some things—not that I think you've done anything wrong! I, um...do you want to grab some coffee? My treat."

Brooke let out a laugh, the tension started to relieve itself from Imogen's shoulders.

"That would be great, actually," Brooke replied. "Are you able to give me some time to get ready or do you have somewhere else to be?"

"Take your time!" Imogen insisted, finally relaxing enough to give a small smile. "My first appointment isn't until later this afternoon so I've got all morning."

Brooke stepped aside to let Imogen in the house, saying she'd be as quick as possible and that Imogen was welcome to make herself at home. The house hadn't changed much since Imogen's last visit: it was still relatively barren decorations-wise, but at least the furniture was nice.

Sitting on the couch, she felt slightly awkward as she pulled out her phone to pass the time. Nothing exciting, she thought as she scrolled through her notifications. A couple of texts from Dakota and Cassy, a slew of texts from Mark that she was ignoring, pointless social media notifications, and a missed call from an unknown number with an attached voicemail. Imogen squinted at the notification as she opened it, raising the phone to her ear to listen, but it was just static. Confused, she looked down at her phone, but there was no transcript or caller ID. Before she could dwell on it, however, Brooke walked back into the room.

"Alright, I'm ready for that coffee you promised me," She said.

"Okay, awesome!" Imogen smiled as she stood up, already having forgotten about the weird voicemail. "Do you have a favorite coffee place or should I take you to mine?"

"Surprise me!" Brooke laughed, leading Imogen out to her car.

The drive started out a little awkward, music playing over the radio as the two debated in their heads what to talk about. It wasn't too long before they started talking, prompted by a terrible pop song playing over the radio, to which both proceeded to exaggerate their disgust, followed by a fit of laughter that naturally led into a conversation.

It wasn't long before they reached their destination: a small coffee shop on the beach decorated with lots of plants and natural accessories. It had a welcoming, warm feeling, and Imogen smiled wide upon approaching the front door. She and Brooke ordered their drinks and headed out to the patio seating, welcoming to cool ocean breeze.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Brooke asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

Imogen shifted in her seat, her face falling as she spoke, "It's kinda about Mark. Are you two dating?"

Brooke was silent for a moment, Imogen's anxiety ramping up with each second Brooke stayed quiet.

"I mean, I guess you could say that," Brook finally replied, her warm smile now gone. "We've been pretty flirty and gone on a couple dates but it was never really official. I know when we first met you said you two were dating and I promise if I'd known sooner I wouldn't have overstepped, I'm so sorry."

Imogen shook her head, a long sigh escaping her lips as she dropped her head. It was her turn to make Brooke anxious with her prolonged silence, but when she finally lifted her head to speak, Imogen was grinning.

"I'm not mad at you, Brooke," she said. She reached across the table with her palm up, hoping Brooke would believe there were no hard feelings. "I'm really thankful you let me know, and, if anything, I'm mad at Mark. I mean, how do I know I wasn't the side piece?"

Brooke laughed, a sound that reduced the tension in the air to nothing. Imogen joined in, making another snide comment before the conversation drifted into something more light. By the time their coffees were finished, the sun was high in the sky and Imogen decided it was best for them to head back.

"Thank you for joining me," Imogen said as she drove Brooke back to her house. "And thank you for helping me clear the air about Mark, I really appreciate it."

"Of course!" Brooke gave her a small nudge with her elbow. "We girls gotta stick together, and you're pretty cool, I guess."

"Alright, whatever," Imogen rolled her eyes playfully. "Here, give me your number."

"Getting brave, are we? You haven't even broken up with Mark yet," Brooke joked, causing Imogen's face to turn red as Brooke took her phone. "Or was this all a ploy to get to me, hm?"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself."

Brooke burst into laughter once again, and Imogen couldn't help but smile. Her energy was intoxicating, and despite the unfortunate circumstances they had to meet under, Imogen knew Brooke was a friend she'd like to hold on to for a while.

After dropping Brooke off and taking ages to say goodbye, Imogen headed home, her smile finally fading. Despite the newfound friendship, she couldn't hide the hurt she felt. She could never be mad at Brooke, of course not, but the truth hurt sometimes, and Imogen had to accept that Mark wasn't all he chalked himself up to be.


	10. Chapter 10

"Are you feeling alright?"

Imogen looked over at Mark, having completely zoned out. They were on a date at a high-end restaurant Mark had somehow talked his way into despite having no reservations open.

Imogen took a sip from her wine glass, trying to act normal as Mark waited on an answer.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Imogen replied. "Why do you ask?"

Mark shook his head and sighed. "I know you're lying to me, you've been acting this way for weeks. What's wrong?"

Imogen glanced around, not wanting to spill the truth in a public place. She'd meant to tell him ages ago but she kept putting it off.

"I think we should break up."

Mark blinked, staying quiet a moment before letting out a nervous laugh.

"You're joking, right?" He asked.

"I'm really sorry to do this to you, especially on Valentine's day," Imogen said. "But it's just not working anymore." A pause. "I'll still help with the heist but I really think it's for the best to stay business partners only."

"Imogen, we can work through this-"

"I'm leaving, Mark."

Imogen pushed herself out of her chair, drawing the attention of other patrons as she walked out. Her fists were clenched to hide the fact she was shaking. She couldn't believe she'd just done that, not realizing until she was halfway down the street that Mark had driven her and she was far from her house. Not to mention the fact it was raining and her phone was dead.

How cliche, she thought.

Now drenched, Imogen tried to find the nearest gas station or convenience store to try to charge her phone, but each place turned her away. She was out of options.

Except, she wasn't.

After being turned down a third time, Imogen excused herself to the restroom. Once behind the locked door, Imogen started rummaging through her purse for her way out of this mess.

Death.

Imogen took a deep breath and clutched the tarot card, closing her eyes.

"Wil, I told you to stop popping into my dimension randomly, I'm sick of—Oh."

Imogen opened her eyes to find Dark directly in front of her, a small desk separating the two.

"What are you doing here?" Dark asked. "And why are you soaking wet? Wait, are you...crying?"

Imogen reached up to touch her cheeks, realizing then that she was, in fact, crying.

"I need to go home," was all she could respond with.

Dark raised his eyebrow in mild annoyance, looking over Imogen's drenched and distressed state.

"If you need to go home then why did you summon yourself here?" He asked, his tone implying he had better things he could be doing (when, in fact, he did not).

"I..." Imogen's voice trailed off, her throat closing up as she held back a sob. "I broke up with Mark."

"What?" Dark sat straighter, adjusting his tie to distract from the fact he was genuinely intrigued. "Why'd you come to me then?"

"I didn't know what else to do, okay?" Imogen was now growing frustrated, though it was moreso with herself. "He took me to dinner in a part of the city I'm not familiar with and my phone died so I couldn't call a ride home so you were my last option, though I'm really starting to regret it now."

Another sob wracked her shivering body, the cold of Dark's dimension not helping her feel any better. Dark didn't know why but he felt sorry for her. It disgusted him just as much as it confused him. Imogen watched as he rose to his feet, cautiously making his way toward her. She shot a glare at him before dropping her head again, wiping away the tears from her eyes.

"I...feel bad for you." The words came out slow, the unease apparent in Dark's voice. He was just as confused by his own words as Imogen was.

"Why?" It was her turn to question his actions. She knew she was just lashing out at him because of her own emotional instability, but she couldn't deny the fact he'd caused her more pain. "What, after torturing me several months you suddenly care? What do you want from me? You promised to leave me alone after I found out about Mark and now I'm more of a fucking mess than before. Was this your plan all along? Make me believe some bullshit lie so I'd turn against him? So I'd break his heart while simultaneously breaking mine?"

Dark tensed up at her aggression, jaw clenching as he attempted to keep his cool.

"I told you to uncover Mark's secrets so you wouldn't have to suffer through his lies," Dark explained through gritted teeth. "He's fed you nothing but lies since the start. This heist that you're planning? It's not going to go over like you think it will. Mark's reckless and uncaring, he'll stop at nothing for his fifteen minutes of fame."

"How do you know?" Imogen scoffed. "I've been planning this heist since the start. I know it like the back of my hand. And you?" It was her turn to judge him with disgust. "You're nothing but a master manipulator. Do you think I'm stupid? I have a Ph.D. in psychology for fuck's sake! You're traumatized and you think you can just waltz all over everyone so you can get what you want. And what is it that you want? Revenge. And for what? Because Mark hurt your feelings? You're pathetic."

That was the breaking point. Dark couldn't hold back any longer, his shell practically ripping apart at the seams with anger. The edges of Imogen's vision became distorted as the white noise in Dark's dimension became louder. He was barely holding his shell together as he spoke.

"I'm pathetic?" His voice was no longer collected but instead full of rage. "I was one of Mark's best friends since childhood, and then he decided to screw us all over. He drove William to insanity, he killed multiple people including my closest friends, simply because he couldn't handle the fact that maybe people didn't actually enjoy his company. I was nothing but a friend to him until the very end and what do I get? I get shoved into a broken shell with 2 other souls, and you expect me to not seek revenge? And why am I the bad guy for wanting to help you?"

"As if you haven't told me this bullshit before," Imogen interrupted him with an eye roll. "Torture isn't a form of help, by the way."

"Do you not fucking understand what I'm trying to say?" Dark's voice cracked with his shell. "Mark is using you! And everyone else in your little heist! He's an actor, Imogen. It's the one thing he's good at. I didn't want to see you suffer the same fate I did. I was trying to protect you!"

Dark reached forward and grabbed Imogen's wrists with his last statement. There was a sense of desperation in his voice and anguish in his eyes, and Imogen finally understood what was she'd been missing.

And then it happened. With each second, Dark's grip on her wrists tightened and Imogen's heart rate skyrocketed. Her throat closed up and the ringing in her ears from Dark's dimension grew even louder until her world went black and she collapsed in Dark's grasp.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of abuse & near-death experiences in this chapter pls read at ur own risk

Imogen woke with a groan, her head throbbing in pain as she slowly attempted to open her eyes. She expected sunlight to be pouring into her bedroom, but as she opened her eyes, she realized it was still nighttime. She creased her eyebrows in confusion, realization hitting her: she never actually made it back to her house after the catastrophe of her date with Mark. The last thing she remembered was yelling at Dark, which could only mean—

"Oh, you're awake."

Imogen jolted into a sitting position, though quickly laid back down as the sudden movement only irritated her raging headache more. Slowly this time, she looked around her room, eyes eventually finding Dark standing to her right side, illuminated by the moonlight entering the window he'd placed himself in front of.

"What happened?" Imogen asked, her voice raspy and slow. To add to an ever-growing list of problems, her throat hurt as well, probably from all the crying and yelling she'd done earlier.

"You passed out during our argument," Dark explained. "I brought you back here since none of your roommates are home at the moment."

Imogen groaned again as she sat up, slowly this time, looking to the clock on her left: 8:34 PM. Dakota had taken Cassy to see a movie shortly after Imogen had left for her date and weren't due to be back until later in the night.

"How long was I out?" Imogen asked, directing her attention back to Dark.

"Unsure. Maybe, thirty, forty minutes?"

Imogen sighed, rubbing her wrists where Dark had grabbed her earlier. It didn't really hurt, but the memories associated with it did.

"I, um, I'm sorry." Dark cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the sympathy he was showing. "I didn't mean to hurt you, honestly."

"It's fine, it wasn't your fault."

Dark was shocked by her sudden forgiveness, considering the statements she'd made less than an hour earlier. He cautiously took a step forward, wondering how it couldn't have been his fault. To his surprise once again, Imogen invited him to sit on the edge of her bed, which he reluctantly did.

"I've been dealing with this for ages," Imogen continued with a shake of her head. "I should know how to deal with it by now. I mean, I'm a licensed psychiatrist for fuck's sake, if I can deal with other people's trauma, why can't I deal with my own?" Imogen let out a sad, breathy laugh, trying to ease the tension in the room. "Sorry, you don't want to hear about my problems."

Dark inched forward, growing increasingly curious by Imogen. He'd practically controlled her life for months and she still had secrets he didn't know about. She intrigued him, despite how much he'd had loved to admit he didn't care.

"Actually, I would like to know," Dark admitted, earning a skeptical look from Imogen.

Her instincts were telling her to stay guarded and not reveal anything, but as he sat at the edge of her bed, relaxed and softly illuminated by the moonlight, she felt as though, maybe, he was trustworthy.

"My parents were deported when I was five," Imogen explained, keeping her gaze fixed mainly on her hands as she nervously pulled at the blanket in her lap. "I was separated from them and placed into foster care. I was in that system for over 10 fucking years before Dakota's family adopted me. I lost track of how many families had fostered me; some were good, some were bad, but there was this one, absolutely awful family."

Imogen paused, choking back tears. The memory was just as painful every time she brought it up. Dark found himself reaching to comfort her, but after what had happened earlier, he quickly decided to just sit and listen.

"They had me for a year and a half. A year and half of fucking hell. My family before had been pretty bad so, when they fostered me, I was so hopeful. They were nice for a little bit, but it was short-lived." Another pause as Imogen took a breath to steady herself, fists clutching onto her blankets to hide the fact she was shaking.

"It was just verbal at first, like in most cases. I wasn't adjusting well to the new high school and the family had high standards. I started blaming myself, promising to be better. No matter what I did, something was wrong. I don't remember when they got physical, but it's not like I'd want to remember anyways. But then..."

Imogen had to stop herself, wiping the tears from her eyes as a sob wracked her already weak frame. Dark once again just sat and listened, though his expression was growing pained with each word Imogen spoke.

"I don't remember how it happened, but one night I came home from school to find my report card on the kitchen counter. I don't even think I opened it before my guardian at the time came up behind me and started yelling. I couldn't even get a word in before his hands wrapped around my throat." Another sob. "I don't remember anything between that and waking up in the hospital."

Imogen wiped her eyes again, finally raising her head to look at Dark, her voice now reduced to a whisper. "I was 14, and had the same PTSD levels as a war vet. To this day, I still can't handle people touching me, which is why, when you grabbed my wrists, I blacked out."

Despite his nature, Dark was horrified by what he'd just been told, and he felt awful for what he'd done.

"I truly am sorry I had to make you relive that," he said after giving Imogen a moment to cry it out. "I don't expect you to forgive me but I...regret how we met, and the trouble I caused you."

This time Imogen was shocked by Dark's words. "I can't forgive you for what you did, but I do appreciate the apology. And thank you, for helping me get home safe. Well, as safe as one can be when passed out."

Imogen cracked a pitiful smile, trying to lighten the mood. Even Dark found himself holding back a smile, though Imogen did notice the corner of his mouth turn up slightly. She couldn't explain it, but she enjoyed his presence, despite how much she'd sworn she'd hated him for months. They sat in silence for a couple of moments and it wasn't long before Imogen felt herself reaching forward to where Dark's hand was propping himself up.

The sound of the doorbell ringing shook both of them to their senses, and Imogen quickly stood up. However, she was stopped in her tracks, stumbling back to sit on her bed due to the throbbing pain in her head.

"I hate to ask," Imogen said, wincing as the doorbell rang yet again. "But can you check that for me?"

Dark bit back a sarcastic remark as he looked at Imogen, head in her heads and still shaking. Another ring. Dark sighed and stood up, navigating his way through Imogen's house with ease. Walking towards the front door, Dark glanced through the side windows to see who was being an annoyance at such an hour, though quickly stopped in his tracks once he recognized who it was.

"It's Mark."

Imogen jumped as Dark suddenly appeared at her side again, cursing under her breath as her headache intensified again.

"God, why can't he leave me alone?" Imogen groaned, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hands.

With an exasperated sigh, she stood up again. Dark was there to catch her as she stumbled again, careful with his grip on her arm this time. Imogen shot him a questioning look, but his expression remained neutral. After taking a moment to regain her composure, Imogen made her way down to her front door, wincing every time the doorbell rang again.

Hand on the lock, Imogen looked around for Dark, but he was nowhere to be found. Probably better that way, she thought to herself as she finally opened the door.

"Oh, thank god, I was so worried!" Mark breathed a sigh of relief as the door opened. "First you break up with me out of nowhere, then you don't answer your phone, and then it takes you ages to answer the door, I was worried something had happened to you!"

He stepped forward to embrace Imogen in a hug, but she quickly stepped back. He gave her a look of hurt and disbelief, arms falling back to his sides.

"What do you want, Mark?" Imogen asked, her voice cracking slightly. She looked awful, makeup smeared, hair a mess, and face fallen.

"I wanted to apologize." Imogen raised an eyebrow. "I don't know what I did to make you feel like you have to break up with me but I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you! Just tell me what I did."

Imogen leaned on the door she was still holding open, knowing this was about to be a long conversation that didn't end well.

"I don't think we're fit for each other," she admitted, ready to bend the truth. She wasn't about to tell him she knew about him cheating and his awful past. "I have too much on my plate right now with my job, caring for Cassy, and helping plan for the heist. This whole thing has been a mistake."

"A mistake?" Mark repeated, his heart breaking with every word she spoke. "What?"

"I mean, fuck, Mark, I've punched you, shot you, and been distant for weeks. Did you really think there was every something real between us?" Mark opened his mouth to respond but Imogen quickly cut him off. "Please, don't plead your case. I've made up my mind."

"But, Imogen—"

"Mark, please," she gave him a look just as broken as his, though there was no sorrow in her eyes. "I'll still help you finish planning the heist but I think it's best we just stay friends, okay? I value your friendship a lot and I don't want to lose that."

Mark just stared at her, unbelieving of what had just happened. Tears brimmed his eyes but he quickly blinked them away, mind racing to find any possible motive to get her to change her mind. He was so shocked he barely noticed when she stepped forward and wrapped him in a gentle hug, which he didn't reciprocate.

"I'm, um, heading to bed," Imogen said once she was back in the doorway, the awkward tension finally settling in. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

Mark just blinked at her, at a loss for words. Imogen waited in the doorway until Mark finally nodded, swallowing hard.

"O-okay," he managed to stutter out, giving Imogen a crooked smile as she waved and headed back inside.

Imogen let out a long sigh as she leaned on the now-closed door, thankful that was finally over with. She was immensely exhausted, and wanted to do nothing but climb back into bed and cry herself to sleep.

"Is he gone?"

Imogen jumped as Dark appeared next to her once again, reminding her of the headache she was also still dealing with.

"Jesus Christ, stop doing that!" Imogen practically shouted, rolling her eyes as Dark just shrugged.

From the other side of the door, Mark had started to leave, but upon hearing her shout, quickly turned back and peered through the side window. His heart dropped when he spotted Dark, getting ready to burst back inside until he watched Imogen interact with him. She seemed mildly on edge, yet didn't seem bothered by Dark's presence. In fact, she seemed to welcome it. Mark's mood darkened as it dawned on him just what was happening. Two could play at that game, he thought to himself before sneaking out of sight and leaving the property.

Just as he was leaving, Dakota's car pulled in, the headlights shining into the main living room where Imogen and Dark still stood.

"You should probably leave," Imogen said upon noticing her roommates' arrival. "I don't think either of them would take too kindly to seeing you here."

"I suppose that makes sense," Dark nodded. He seemed to hesitate a moment, as if he had something else of value to say. Imogen gave him an urgent look as Dakota and Cassy's voices approached. "Right, um, well, you know how to contact me."

Dark gave her a curt nod, gone mere seconds later. Imogen felt a weight land upon her shoulders once he had left, quickly making her way up to her room, barely able to close the door to her bedroom as Dakota finally got the door open.

Leaning against her door, Imogen listened to her roommates' cheerful voices talk about whatever movie they'd just returned home from. She wanted to join them, but in her current state, she knew it was best to avoid questioning. Plus, she needed a good night's sleep, she had a heist to plan.


	12. Chapter 12

A few days later, Imogen was sitting on the floor of her office, blueprints of the museum strewn about around her. She was currently focused on the one in front of her, a pen cap between her teeth as she carefully traced the air ducts to possible entry and exit points. She was just about to move onto the sewer systems when her phone rang. With a sigh, Imogen stood up to grab it off her desk, sighing when she saw the contact name. 

"Oh, hey Mark," She answered, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"Hey! Imogen!" Mark greeted, his voice surprisingly cheery. "How are those blueprints coming along?"

Imogen looked at the messy pile at her feet, grimacing. "I'm about halfway done, just finished looking at the air ducts. Sewage system's next."

"Cool, cool, hey, I had an idea. I'm assuming you want a break from the blueprints?" Imogen grumbled a response. "I was thinking you could meet me at the museum so we can get another closeup on everything, you know? You can bring Dakota and Cassy and I'll bring Brooke so we can all get acquainted and used to the museum. You in?"

Imogen mulled it over a moment as she weighed her options, eventually replying, "Sounds fine to me, but I'll have to check with the girls, too. Check back with me in like 30 minutes?"

"Okay! Sounds good! Talk to you in a bit!"

With that, he hung up. Imogen sighed as she looked at the blueprints on her floor again, quickly scooping them up and placing them on a chair before she headed out to the living room where Dakota and Cassy sat watching TV.

"What is this?" Imogen asked, standing behind the couch as she looked at the television. Three contestants stood at pedestals while an eccentric host blabbed on about something unimportant. 

Dakota looked up at Imogen from where she sat, giving her a small shrug in response. "Some dumb game show, nothing else was really on."

"It's called Hire My Ass and it's supposedly hosted by a cannibal," Cassy said, giggling as Imogen gave her a disapproving look.

"Alright, well, Mark was wondering if you guys wanted to join us at the museum today," Imogen said as the TV continued to play in the background.

"Didn't you two break up?" Dakota asked, adjusting her sitting position so Imogen could have her full attention.

"It's...It's complicated."

"Complicated my ass," Cassy scoffed.

"Hey, watch your language," Imogen shut her down, earning only an eye roll. "Anyways, do you guys wanna go or not?"

The two girls shrugged and nodded their affirmation, Imogen then prompting them to go get ready. Imogen shut off the TV and followed suit, letting Mark know they were going to meet him at the museum in an hour. 

It wasn't long before all three girls were dressed and ready to go, climbing into Imogen's car and making their way to the museum. It wasn't too long before they arrived, Imogen going ahead and buying tickets for the five of them while Dakota and Cassy took in the outdoor art exhibits.

"Imogen!"

Imogen turned towards the direction the shout came from and found Brooke walking toward her. Imogen waved, a smile creeping onto her face. Brooke gave Imogen her version of a gentle hug, but still proceeded to almost cut off her air. She sometimes forgot how strong she was, and Imogen had to hold back a cough as Brooke let go.

"It's good to see you again!" Brooke said as Imogen attempted to catch her breath.

"Yeah, you too!" Imogen replied, smoothing down the front of her shirt. "Where's Mark?"

"Oh, he's trying to find a place to park the car," Brooke gave a dismissive wave of her hand, clearing her throat before asking: "Did you two break up?"

Imogen sighed, reaching up to rub the back of her neck. "Yeah, how's he been? I don't want things to be too awkward, you know?"

"The first day was rough, not gonna lie, but he seemed to get over it really quickly. I was surprised he even suggested to invite you to this."

Imogen squinted her eyes slightly when Brooke admitted that Mark had gotten over the breakup quickly, making a mental note to keep an eye on him. Pushing this aside, she smiled back up at Brooke.

"At least he's being civil, that's all that matters," Imogen said with a small shrug. "Here, let me introduce you to my roommates."

She turned on her heel and began walking towards where she'd left Cassy and Dakota, who had incidentally gotten themselves stuck on one of the large art exhibits.

"Can't leave them unsupervised for five minutes," Imogen muttered, earning a hearty laugh from Brooke.

Imogen proceeded to scold the two as they made their way back to the ground, Cassy looking the most guilty. Dakota was seemingly distracted by the dark-skinned woman standing just a few feet away.

"Dakota? You there?" Imogen snapped her fingers in front of Dakota's face, which turned bright red as she looked back at Imogen.

"Yeah! I'm here, sorry," Dakota replied quickly, trying to stay as calm as possible as Imogen led them over to Brooke.

"Brooke, this is Cassy," Imogen introduced the group. Cassy smiled and shook Brooke's hand rather vigorously. "And this is—"

"I'm Dakota," Dakota blurted out, holding her arm out stiffly to shake Brooke's.

Imogen raised an eyebrow as she watched the two interact, quickly understanding what was happening. A sly smile crossed her face, but before she could say anything more, a hand landed on her shoulder. Tensing up, she quickly whipped around to find—

"Oh, Mark, it's just you," Imogen's shoulders dropped as she relaxed again.

"What do you mean? Are you not happy to see me?" Mark asked, giving her a pitiful look

"Of course I am," Imogen lied. 

"Well, great, because we have a museum to explore! Let's head in, shall we?"

Imogen rolled her eyes as Mark started walking ahead, following suit and handing out everyone's tickets. As they entered the museum, Mark blabbed on about something, but the others were preoccupied: Dakota was practically glued to Brooke's side, taking in every word she said as if her life depended on it. Cassy had gone ahead and was admiring the exhibits, and Imogen was carefully scanning the area with her eyes, making mental notes of possible entry and exit points, cameras, and trying to get a feel for how heavily guarded the place was. 

It wasn't long before they reached the art section of the museum, Imogen's eyes immediately drawn to the same large-scale photograph that had captured her the first night she'd visited. It unsettled her for some reason, and she made a point to leave that section of the museum as quickly as possible.

Moments later, they entered a large, open area filled with interactive art pieces. Cassy and Dakota teamed up against Brooke for a life-sized game of chess, though none of them knew how to play. Mark led Imogen towards a set of open double doors where two guards stood, entering the room quickly.

"This is it?" Imogen asked as she looked at the box in the center of the room. It was ornately crafted, and though it intrigued her, she couldn't see its value.

"Of course this is it!" Mark was much more enthusiastic. "What's inside this box is worth a fortune; it's practically priceless!"

Imogen raised an eyebrow as she looked over at him, arms crossed. She couldn't believe she was going through all this trouble for this box. It wasn't even labeled! In the same retrospect, she'd already gotten this far and refused to give up. After inspecting it for a few more moments, both she and Mark made their way out of the room.

The other three girls were still playing chess, though they seemed to have made up their own rules. Cassy was on the board now, Dakota directing her as if she were a living chess piece. Brooke was laughing as she attempted to move her pieces, but Cassy kept blocking her off. The trio burst into laughter, and Imogen left Mark's side to join them.

"I see you three are getting along well," She noted, smiling at them.

"These girls are great!" Brooke exclaimed, smiling brightly as she ruffled Cassy's hair. "You're lucky to live with them."

"Oh, you'd be surprised, they're quite the handful. They like to keep me on my toes. I've known Dakota now for about 10 years and she still gets on my nerves."

Dakota shot Imogen a dirty look, face turning red again, but Imogen just smiled back, knowing exactly what she was doing. 

"Oh wow, 10 years?" Brooke seemed impressed. "That's a long time."

"Yeah, her family adopted me when I was a teen so she's like my little sister," Imogen nodded, reaching over to smother Dakota in a hug.

"Please stop embarrassing me," Dakota muttered so only Imogen could hear.

"What about Cassy?" Brooke asked.

All three of their faces fell, Imogen looking over to Cassy for confirmation to tell Brooke, but Cassy shook her head.

"That's a little more personal, unfortunately," Imogen said. "In short, we've pretty much adopted her as our youngest sister after an unfortunate event."

Brooke nodded slowly, taking the hint to not press any further. They stood in silence a moment, trying to think of a way to uplift the conversation when Mark sauntered over and suggested they keep moving through the museum.

The group checked out a couple more exhibits before circling back to the entrance, heading back outside. The sun was just starting to dip below the skyline, casting a warm light onto the city.

"Hey, Imogen, can we talk?" Mark asked.

Imogen nodded and the two walked just out of earshot, though close enough to keep an eye on Brooke, Cassy, and Dakota, who were currently preoccupied with each other.

"It's great they get along so well," Mark said as he watched them proceed to try to take over yet another interactive art piece. "Really makes me think."

"Spit it out, Mark," Imogen sighed, her patience with him running thin.

"Look, I respect your decision to break up with me but I also think it was stupid."

Imogen recoiled in shock, disbelieving of what Mark had just said.

"I mean, how is this gonna affect the heist now? I'm trying to mend things but you just want to be independent and push me away."

"Are you fucking serious right now?" Imogen scoffed. "I'm trying to stay as civil as possible but when you say shit like that it makes it really hard."

"Well, maybe it wouldn't be so hard if you hadn't broken up with me in the first place."

Imogen couldn't help but laugh, but it was mocking and mirthless. "This is exactly why we broke up. You're being selfish, Mark. This heist is my number one priority right now, and I'm going to plan it with or without your help. I can write you out of it like that–" she snapped her fingers "–so you better get your shit together. I'm leaving. I'll bring you the blueprints once I'm done with them."

Before Mark could get another word in, Imogen stormed off. She apologized to Brooke before dragging Cassy and Dakota back to her car. Mark watched with amusement, seemingly unphased and unhurt by her words. If he'd predicted things correctly, his plan was falling into place perfectly.


	13. Chapter 13

The drive home from the museum was filled only by the radio softly playing whatever songs were popular at the moment. Imogen was seething with anger, knuckles turning white as she gripped her steering wheel. Dakota cast glances at her every couple of minutes, and Cassy kept her focus shifted on whatever was outside the window. They knew better than to tempt Imogen when she was angry; hot-headedness seemed to run in their little makeshift family. 

Upon pulling into their garage, Imogen put the car in park and stomped inside. She practically flung her keys onto the kitchen counter before turning to Cassy and Dakota.

"I'm going to do some work," she said, trying her best not to lash out at them. "Don't bother me unless it's an emergency."

With that, she stormed up to her office, slamming and locking the door behind her.

Imogen slammed her hands down on her desk, sighing in frustration as she unrolled the museum blueprints. She'd grabbed a pen to start focusing on her work, but quickly slammed down that as well, hands reaching up to hold her face as she let out an angry groan.

"I can't believe that bastard!" She exclaimed, letting her arms fall back to her sides.

"Get used to it."

"Can you stop fucking doing that!" Imogen shouted as she turned towards Dark.

Dark held his hands up defensively from his position in one of Imogen's chairs. 

"Why are you here?" Imogen asked, sighing in exasperation as she tried to calm her anger. "I didn't summon you."

"Your fury is quite powerful, I could feel trace amounts of it from my dimension," Dark explained. "I figured I'd stop by and see what the commotion was. I should've known Mark was at the center of it."

Imogen scoffed, rolling her eyes as she turned back to her blueprints. Wrapping her foot around the leg of her chair, she pulled it up to her desk before plopping down in it. She dropped her head in her hands, propping herself up with her elbows.

"Why is he such an ass?" 

"Excuse me?" Dark was mildly taken aback, tilting his head as he looked at Imogen.

"Mark. Why is he such an ass?" Imogen repeated, lifting her head to meet Dark's gaze. She looked sadder than anything, shoulders slumped and mouth in a frown. "He was so sweet when we started dating but now it's like he's a completely different person, I don't understand."

Dark sighed and stood up, slowly making his way toward Imogen. He hated the fact he'd shown her so much sympathy, but for some reason, he couldn't stop himself. He stopped a few feet away from her desk, leaning against the side of her bookshelf.

"He's always been this way," Dark explained. "He's an actor by nature, it's the one thing he's actually good at. I tried to warn you but my methods were a little, ah, let's say, undesirable."

Imogen shocked Dark with a laugh and he froze, not knowing how to react.

"Yeah, sure, undesirable is the right word," Imogen said with a slightly mocking tone.

Dark's shell cracked somewhat at her tone, but her genuine smile quickly subdued him. His face contorted in confusion. That had never happened before; no one had ever been able to ease his anger that quickly. In all honestly, it scared him.

"Hey, you okay?" Imogen asked, eyebrows creased in concern. "You went a little pale there, well, paler than I suppose you can get."

She laughed again and Dark quickly straightened, smoothing down his coat to regain his composure. He had no understanding of why he was getting so flustered but he needed to regain control fast.

"So, what exactly happened with Mark earlier?" he asked.

Imogen's face fell and she rolled her eyes. "Ugh, you know, just him being a jerk. He said I was stupid for breaking up with him because it would ruin the heist, as if I'm not the one planning it."

Imogen shook her head as she looked back down at the blueprints on her desk, eyes scanning them carefully.

"Sounds like him," Dark scoffed, watching as Imogen got to work on the blueprints again.

She was meticulous with her work, taking moments to ponder before marking something. Mistakes couldn't be afforded, not this late in the planning process. 

"Was he always like this?" Imogen asked after taking a moment to mark a possible exit point. "Before, you know, he screwed you over?"

"Oh, well," Dark didn't know how to respond to her question, clearing his throat and shaking his head. "It doesn't matter, it's in the past. He made his decision and now I'm making mine."

"I'll never be able to help you if you don't open up to me," Imogen said, casting a glance up at him. "That is why you're still here, right? Because you want my help?"

Dark didn't know how to respond, realization hitting him that he honestly didn't know why he kept showing up and sticking around. It was more like a gut feeling, one he didn't understand.

Imogen stayed silent, hoping it would pressure something out of him, but after a few minutes, she gave up. Sighing, she set her pen down and sat back in her chair.

"Look," she said. "I understand that trauma takes time to talk and open up about, but since you pretty much like to come and go as you please, and you haven't left yet, there's something you want to say. In the meantime, feel free to make yourself at home. There's plenty of coffee and tea in the kitchen if that helps."

"That actually sounds great right now," Dark replied with a curt nod.

He waited a moment, expecting Imogen to join him, but she'd already absorbed herself back into her work, giving him a dismissive wave of her hand. Dark proceeded to step out of her office and into the hallway, starting his trek down to the kitchen. He'd only taken a few steps when he heard a door open behind him, expecting to see Imogen joining him when he turned around.

Instead, Dakota was standing in her room's doorway, bat and glove in hand as she was about to head down and play some baseball with Cassy. The two of them stared at each other in shock a couple of moments before Dakota reacted first, yelling and raising her bat above her head.

Dark dodged as she swung at him, narrowly missing plunging a hole in the wall by mere centimeters. Before she could get a second swing in, Imogen had raced out of her office and stood in between the two, having clearly heard the commotion when it started.

"What the hell is going on?" Imogen shouted, arms splayed out protectively as she shielded Dark from Dakota.

"Who the fuck is that and why is he in our house?" Dakota shouted back, baseball bat still at the ready.

"Dakota, put the bat down and I'll explain."

"How do I know he's not blackmailing you? Or, or has a gun pointed at your back?"

Imogen looked back at Dark, who slowly raised both his hands to show he was unarmed. Dakota, in turn, relaxed a bit, allowing for Imogen to reach forward and take the bat from her hands.

"Come into my office and I'll explain," Imogen said with her calmest voice possible, nudging Dark to go back into her office as Dakota trailed behind them.

Once the three were inside, Imogen made sure to set Dakota's bat as far away from her as possible so they could avoid any more close calls. Dark stood on Imogen's right while Dakota stood on her left, the two practically staring daggers into each other.

"Dakota, this is Dark. Dark, this is Dakota," Imogen introduced the two. "Now can you please calm down? No one's going to hurt anyone."

"She did swing a metal bat at me, you do realize," Dark retorted.

"Only because I have no clue who you are and you were just walking around our house. Self-defense, bud!"

Imogen ran her hands down her face, shutting them up with a loud "ahem!". The two turned their attention back to Imogen.

"Sorry, Dark, I forgot to tell you my roommates were home," Imogen said, taking responsibility for the incident.

"You're gonna apologize to him?" Dakota protested, giving Imogen an incredulous look. 

"You did try to hit him with your bat," Imogen pointed out.

"What else was I supposed to do?" Dakota argued, throwing her arms out in a display of irritation. "I walked out of my room and saw an unfamiliar man wandering the house like he lives here! And how am I supposed to not assume he's an intruder? There's no other cars in the driveway and I know for a fact you haven't left your office since we've been home, so how the hell did he get in here?"

Imogen opened and closed her mouth, realizing she had no excuse to talk her way out of this argument. Instead, she turned to Dark.

"Should I tell her or do you want to?" She asked. "Because frankly I also still don't quite understand it."

"Tell me what?" Dakota looked between the two as Dark sighed and then turned his attention to Dakota.

"I'm not exactly of your realm," Dark explained, though, in reality, he was only confusing Dakota more. "I can bend your reality at my will, and I'm free to come and go as I please."

Dakota nodded slowly before asking, "So you're a magician?"

Imogen stifled a laugh as Dark recoiled in shock.

"No, not a magician," He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm...like what you call an entity, I suppose."

"Wait," Dakota turned to Imogen this time, the final piece clicking for her. "Is this the entity you told me about? The one that tortured you? And now you're letting him in our house? Wait a second, how do I know he's still not messing with you?"

Dakota stepped towards where Imogen had set down her bat, but Imogen quickly cut her off.

"Dakota, I promise you, he's not gonna hurt me," Imogen reassured her.

"And how am I supposed to believe that after what you told me?"

"Alright," Imogen sighed, gently pushing Dakota away from the bat. "What's something only I would know?"

Dakota pondered a moment before asking, "How and when did I get this scar?" She pushed her bangs aside and pointed to the large scar running up the side of her mouth to just below her eye.

"You were 14 and I had just turned 20," Imogen explained, casting a glance at Dark before turning her attention solely to Dakota. "I was home from school for spring break. You were still in school and had a game that week so of course I went to support you. You were warming up a little too close to one of your teammates and when they went to practice a swing, their bat flew out of their hand and hit you square in the face. You had to miss the game because I had to drive you to the hospital. You hate that scar more than anything else in your life and you cried for days after it happened."

Dakota bit her lip, brushing her bangs back into her face. 

"Fine," she said. "I trust you, but if he tries anything I have full permission to hit him with the bat."

"Deal," Imogen nodded.

"Do I get a say in this?" Dark asked, a little offended. "Because I'd rather not have a bat swung at me again."

"I trust you enough that I'm sure Dakota won't even have to look at her bat," Imogen stated, smiling up at Dark. He simply stared back at her, unsure of how to react, or even feel. His mind was still reeling from almost having his head bashed in by Dakota.

"So..." Dakota interrupted the awkward silence. "Why exactly are you on good terms? Imogen, I know you don't tend to take too lightly to traumatic experiences."

Imogen broke her gaze to stare at the ground.

"Ah, it's complicated?" She replied, earning a skeptical look from Dakota. "Fine, Dark helped me find out about Mark being shady basically and he helped me out after my disaster of a breakup, so, I guess, we're...friends now?" Imogen turned to Dark for agreement, but he looked a little unsettled by her statement. "Okay, acquaintances probably fits better."

"Okay," Dakota said slowly, eyeing Dark closely. "I guess I should leave you two to it, then. Better catch up with Cassy before she causes a fiasco. But I'm leaving that bat with you just in case."

"I won't need it, but thanks."

Dakota nodded, giving Dark one last threatening glare before walking back out into the hallway. Imogen sighed and slumped into one of the lounge chairs in the office, clearly exhausted.

"I'm sorry about her," Imogen apologized, watching as Dark relaxed more that Dakota was gone. "She's a handful sometimes but she means well."

"Handful seems like an understatement," Dark quipped.

"Anyways, did you still want that coffee? I can get it for you—"

Dark cut her off with a shake of his head.

"I believe I've caused you enough trouble," Dark said. "Plus, you have work to get back to, do you not?"

"Yeah, I do," Imogen answered, her tone deflated and edging on sadness.

"Then I best leave you to it."

Dark gave her a curt nod and was gone seconds later. Sighing heavily, Imogen pushed herself to her feet and made her way back to her desk, picking up her pen and continuing where she'd left off with the blueprints. Looking at the calendar on her wall, it dawned on her that the heist was mere days away. She should've felt confident in herself and her work, but something felt off. She knew her blueprints were to be returned to Mark the next day and the plan would officially be finalized, but she couldn't shake the feeling something wasn't right. She knew Mark was angry at her for the breakup, but we wouldn't let that cloud his judgment, right? She'd make sure to take it up with Mark and triple-check their work the next time she saw him, she thought to herself. If something was found, then she'd fix it. If nothing was found, then she'd pass her paranoia off as just that. Satisfied with her conclusion, Imogen got back to work.


	14. Chapter 14

Dark winced as he entered Wilford's dimension, the bright pink and yellow spiral backdrop a stark contrast to the void he was used to. With an exasperated scoff, he started walking toward a free-standing door, opening it and stepping into Wilford's office moments later. The plywood walls were illuminated by pink and blue lights, a TV playing static in the corner as Wilford polished his revolver at his desk.

"Ah, Damien! So good to see you!" Wilford exclaimed, leaping to his feet upon Dark's arrival. Before Dark had the time to respond, Wilford's expression had become more stoic. "Though, you rarely come here unless it's serious...what's wrong? What did I mess up this time?"

"I'm actually the one that messed up," Dark replied, clearing his throat. "I made a mistake."

Wilford laughed at his statement, clapping a hand on Dark's shoulder, which Dark proceeded to remove immediately after.

"Oh, the all-mighty Darkiplier has made a mistake, yeah right" Wilford joked, not taking the hint from the way Dark was glaring at him.

"Wil, I'm serious."

Wilford blinked, quickly offering for Dark to take a seat as he did the same, clearing off his desk with one sweep of his arm. The objects went clattering to the floor, and Dark winced as something glass shattered. Wilford didn't seem to notice, or maybe he didn't care.

"I need advice," Dark said as he took a seat on the other side of Wilford's desk.

"If you needed advice why didn't you just go to one of the Googles? They seem to know everything," Wilford suggested, earning a skeptical look from Dark. "Eh, you're right, they're not the most...approachable, to put it nicely. Anyways! What was it you needed advice for?"

"Well, you remember the girl I was, um, torturing?" Dark began, voice lowering with the last word as if he were ashamed.

"Ah, Mark's girlfriend, yes, I remember her," Wilford nodded. "Her hair matches my mustache!"

"Anyways," Dark continued, getting irritated with Wilford's antics. "I may or not have been the reason for their breakup and now she's opened up to me like I'm her...friend."

"That's a good thing, isn't it? You were jealous of Mark anyways."

"No, I wasn't!" Dark exclaimed hastily, earning an eyebrow raise from Wilford. "Okay, maybe I was, but that's not the point! I...I believe she may start to have feelings for me if I don't do something about it."

Wilford gave Dark a knowing smile, sighing as he responded, "Seems like the problem to me is you're more afraid of your own feelings than hers."

"What? Why on earth—"

"Damien," Wilford interrupted him, giving him a gentle glare. "I know she reminds you of the DA, I see it too. No matter what you threw at her, she still got up, didn't she? I mean, if I were her, I'd hate your guts. It's a miracle she still wants to help you. Don't take it for granted or else Mark will, again."

Dark sat there in silence, pondering Wilford's words. That's when it hit him. Oh, he thought, oh no. He quickly pushed himself out of his chair, hands gripping the edge of the desk as he leaned over it.

"Wil, I need you to do me a favor," he said quickly. "Keep an eye on the heist from Mark's perspective and tell me everything, and I mean everything, you hear about it from him."

"Bold of you to assume I'm not already," Wilford scoffed, seemingly offended. "I've got everything in a file right here!"

Wilford reached into his desk and pulled a manila folder thick with papers out. Dark quickly snatched it up, flicking through the documents quickly.

"Okay, perfect," Dark nodded to himself. "I owe you one."

Before Wilford could get another word in, Dark had practically sprinted out the door and back to his dimension. Wilford huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head before returning to cleaning his revolver.

Dark spent the next few days poring over the documents Wilford had given him, though most of his time was spent trying to interpret it. Not only was Wilford's handwriting almost illegible, almost every document was written in bright pink ink. Dark was almost ready to give up after the first document, but forced himself to continue for the sake of beating Mark at his own game (at least, that's what he tried to convince himself was the reason).

It was the day of the heist when he finally finished deciphering each page. Papers were scattered all around his desk, black ink marring the previous pink. Dark was propped up on one elbow, leaning over his desk as he finished up the last page. He now knew everything Mark did about the heist, but something still felt wrong. Gathering the pages, he read through them again, quicker now that he'd made marks and corrections he actually understood. As he skimmed though, something caught his eye, something he hadn't given thought to initially. Creasing his eyebrows, he held up the paper to inspect it closer, heart sinking when he realized what was happening. Mark was going to betray the others. 

Dark didn't think twice before stepping out of his void and into Imogen's office, where he expected her to be. However, she was absent, and the blueprints were gone, too. Dark continued to search the house, but it was silent and empty. Before returning to his dimension, Dark found a clock signaling that it was already late in the evening, meaning the heist had already begun to take action. 

Moments later, Dark found himself in a dimension he rarely visited. It was mostly dark, save for the computer monitors playing static on the desk where a man sat. A bloodied piece of fabric was wrapped around his head and covered his eyes, and though he'd had headphones on, he turned to Dark mere seconds after he appeared.

"Ah, Dark, good to see you," the man said, his tone neutral.

"Host," Dark greeted with a curt nod. "I need your help."

Host hummed to himself as he turned back to his desk, setting his microphone out of his way as he fidgeted with the wiring on the computer monitors.

"And what exactly would you need my help for?" Host asked. 

"I need you to check up on a...friend, of mine," Dark replied.

"You have friends? Good for you." The corners of Host's mouth turned up ever so slightly as he reached forward to flick on more screens, though they were only playing static.

"Stop mocking me and help me," Dark snapped, though Host only gave him a cool laugh in response.

Dark was rarely intimidated by others, but something about Host unsettled him. He was the only other person besides Wilford that Dark legitimately respected and knew to be careful around.

"Well, I do need a name to start with, or should I just assume you want me to see what Mark's up to again?"

Dark bit his tongue to prevent an outburst, his shell reaching out instead. Host sensed this and let out a low chuckle, enjoying annoying Dark a little too much.

"Well, does this supposed friend of yours have a name or was this all just a joke—"

"Dr. Imogen Mendoza," Dark cut him off, already fed up.

"Ah," was all Host replied with, a knowing grin crossing his face. "That's Mark's girlfriend, is it not? Oh, or should I say ex-girlfriend? Considering you got in the way and cause the breakup and now she's—"

"Just shut up and tell me if she's okay!" Dark interrupted angrily, shell lashing out.

Host tensed up as he sensed Dark's instability, adjusting his headphones and turning towards one of the monitors.

"Do you want more or fewer details?" Host asked, turning his head ever so slightly toward Dark.

"I don't care, just tell me the important stuff."

Host huffed, seemingly dissatisfied with his answer. Leaning forward, he turned up the volume to his headphones, increasing the static from one of the monitors simultaneously. Host was silent for a few moments before he perked up.

"She's just arrived at Mark's house," he narrated, Dark immediately calming himself. "With her are her two roommates, Cassy Nightingale and Dakota Ryans. Mark is already at the door to welcome them inside while his roommate, Brooklyn West, is prepping bags with weapons, maps, and tools.

"Imogen seems unsettled but Mark is completely certain in the fact his plan is going to go off without a hitch. Imogen lays a blueprint out on Mark's kitchen table and begins to go over the plan again with everyone present. The plan is as follows—"

"I already know the plan."

Host turned toward Dark, scowling. Had he still had his eyes, he'd be glaring daggers at Dark.

"You told me you wanted to know only the important details, and I believe hearing the plan is important, so if you'd please shut up so I can work, I'd greatly appreciate it."

Dark scoffed as Host turned back to the monitor, but didn't respond. Host was silent for a prolonged time before finally continuing:

"The group is leaving Mark's house. It will take them 23 minutes and 56 seconds to reach their destination. Do you want me to narrate everything or sit in silence for 20 minutes?"

"Just tell me when they get there," Dark replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. He knew he was getting on Host's nerves, and that if he didn't reconcile, Host could refuse to tell him more, but Dark was too prideful to do so, deciding to stay silent instead.

The next 20 minutes were the most painstakingly dragged out minutes Dark had ever experienced, and he was at his wit's end when Host perked up again.

"They've reached their destination. They're on a property away from the museum, unloading the car and walking the rest of the way. They are well out of any security camera's view and Imogen is leading them through said cameras' blind spots.

"They are almost spotted by a security guard but he passes quickly and they haven't raised any suspicion. Brooke enters the museum first, followed by Dakota, Cassy, Imogen, and lastly, Mark. Mark proceeds to—oh, a newcomer has arrived.

Dark leaned closer, simultaneously curious and worried.

"Her name is Amelia Lee. Imogen questions her motives but once deeming her not a threat, they allow her to join their crew."

"They what?" Dark asked incredulously.

"You heard me," Host snapped. "Now are you going to let me continue or are you going to keep interrupting me?"

Dark mumbled an apology under his breath, taking a step back to give Host space as he continued.

"Mark and Imogen proceed to split up from the other four but quickly return as Cassy is spotted by a security guard. Mark takes him down easily and they move into the first exhibit room. They are almost spotted by another guard but Dakota creates a diversion.

"They continue undetected through three more rooms before reaching the vault, and the doors swing open revealing two more security guards. Undetected again, Mark points out that two keys are needed for the vault, and he takes Imogen to find one while leaving Dakota, Brooke, Cassy, and Amelia to find the other.

"Mark is almost spotted as Imogen steals the key off the guard and they reconvene back with Dakota, Brooke, Cassy, and Amelia. Mark takes the key from Amelia, and he and Imogen open the vault doors.

"Mark proceeds to remove the glass casing and then the artifact, an alarm sounding seconds later. Imogen is the only calm one, suggesting they go through the sewer system, but Mark insists on utilizing the weapons they packed and waltzing right out the front doors. The girls are with Imogen and she removes the manhole cover inside the vault. She heads in first, but...oh. Oh, that's..."

"What? What's going on?" Dark asked, trying to hide the urgency in his tone. Host sat there in mild shock at what he'd just discovered, hands gripping the edge of his desk.

"Mark turned on Imogen," Host explained. "She's trapped in the sewer system while he forces the others to follow him out, guns blazing." A pause. "Dark, she'll be found by security or killed down there, it's not safe."

Dark tensed up, using all his energy to keep his composure. Even though he refused to show it, Host could clearly tell he was worried.

"If I predict her movements correctly, there is a possibility she'll make it out," Host said, "but it requires you stepping in."

"I don't care," Dark shook his head. "Just tell me where I need to go and I will."

Host gave Dark instructions on where he could expect to find Imogen, stating he'd contact Dark if he saw anything change. Simultaneously satisfied and dissatisfied with Host's narration, Dark headed back to his dimension, constructing a pathway where Host had instructed. Sitting at his desk, Dark tried to focus his energy on his anger for Mark as opposed to his worry. It was relatively unsuccessful, and all that was left for him to do was sit and hope and wait.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy the heist is finally here! this is the longest chapter I've written, and it was so long I had to split it into 3 separate parts (which should be posted in the next few days).  
> songs i recommend listening to while you read this chapter (aka songs i vibed HARD to while writing this):  
> we're through - nevaeh  
> cyaho - molchat doma  
> blood in the cut (aire atlantic remix) - k. flay

Imogen tapped her fingers anxiously on her steering wheel as she drove to Mark's house, mind preoccupied. Dakota creased her eyebrows as she watched her, easily picking up on her nervous habits.

"You okay?" She asked.

"Hm?" Imogen barely cast her a glance. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

"Imogen, I've known you for 10 years which is long enough to know you're lying. What's wrong?"

Imogen sighed, shaking her head but keeping her gaze on the road. She didn't reply at first, waiting until they reached a stoplight before searching her pants pockets, finding what she was looking for moments later.

"I'm just...I have a bad feeling about the heist," Imogen finally replied, one hand on the steering wheel while the other fidgeted nervously with the card in her hands. "I know I've been central to the planning process but I'm just worried. Which is why I wanted to give you this."

Imogen handed Dakota the card she'd pulled from her pocket, Dakota looking it over carefully.

"Is this a tarot card?" She asked, giving Imogen a semi-worried look. "Why is it the death one?"

"I...I use it to contact Dark," Imogen explained. "I want you to have it, just in case something goes wrong and, let's say, we get separated. At this point, I'm sure I can get in contact with Dark without it, but if anything goes wrong at all, you go to him." Dakota opened her mouth to protest but Imogen quickly cut her off. "I know you don't trust him, but I do, and I also know if he were to turn on you, you're more than capable of defending yourself."

Dakota looked back down at the card, pondering it for a moment before asking, "How would I use it?"

"Well, what I did was I'd hold the card, then shut my eyes and basically will myself into his dimension."

Dakota frowned slightly but nodded, tucking the card into her pocket. She was still skeptical of its actual abilities, but kept it on her person to appease Imogen's anxiety.

The rest of the drive was almost completely silent, a few light conversation topics throw in every so often, but nothing of actual value. Upon reaching Mark's house, they stepped out of the car, Imogen's arms full as she carried the finalized blueprints in.

"Glad to see you showed up on time," Mark sneered, looking down at Imogen as she stepped into his house.

"Don't push it, Mark," Imogen sassed back, meeting his gaze with equal resent. "We're business partners tonight so I'll be civil if you can. After tomorrow, you can go back to hating me all you want."

Pushing her way past him, Imogen made her way into the dining room, laying the blueprints down on the table. Brooke was at one end of the table, sorting the necessary equipment into separate piles for each member of their heist.

"I trust Mark greeted you warmly?" Brooke asked, looking up to watch Imogen roll out the blueprints.

"Oh, yeah, just the friendliest," Imogen retorted with a scoff, not wanting to engage in any more conversation.

A few silent moments passed before Cassy and Dakota joined them, moving to Brooke's side to help her organize. They struck up a light conversation, but Imogen tuned them out, shifting her focus solely to the blueprints and the plan. She didn't entirely need to be looking it over, the plan ingrained in her brain so well she could recite it in her sleep.

Mark was the last one to join the group, setting his hand on Imogen's shoulder as he looked over her work. Imogen tensed up, attempting to move away, but his grip only tightened. Despite her growing anxiety, Imogen tried to seem as calm as possible, looking up to meet his gaze.

"Is there something I can help you with?" She asked through gritted teeth.

"Actually, if you wouldn't mind," Mark requested, "can you run us through the plan before we head out?"

Imogen straightened her posture, forcefully pulling Mark's hand off her shoulder. Clearing her throat, she gained the attention of the other three girls, signaling them to come to her side of the table so they could look at the blueprints together.

"We'll enter the building here," Imogen began, using her finger to pinpoint their entry. "We'll have to climb through some vents, which will spit us out on the second floor. From there, we'll split up so Mark and I can scout for the guards while you guys make your way to the first exhibit room, where we'll meet back up. We'll then move as a group toward the vault, which we'll break into. Once we have the artifact, we'll make our way back out the way we came, meet up at the car, and drive to the agreed safe house. Everyone understood?"

Imogen looked around the group as they nodded. Spirits seemed high and Imogen was confident in her plan. A few more details later and they headed out, reaching their destination not too much later. 

They were parked in a public garage, making sure to stay well away from the security cameras. Unloading the car, Imogen and Dakota made sure everyone had a map and grappling hook, Imogen and Dakota the only two equipped with a handgun. Mark had originally put up a fight when Imogen proposed this, but she didn't trust him with one.

Shouldering her bag, Imogen led the group through side streets and alleys until they reached the museum. They hid behind a bush as she peered through, watching a security guard pass. Looking down at her watch, Imogen nodded to herself; they were right on time.

As soon as the guard passed, Imogen instructed them to head toward the wall in front of them. Brooke went first, ensuring her grappling hook was secured before making her way up. Dakota and Cassy followed immediately after, Imogen making sure the coast was clear before she and Mark went up.

Brooke had already scouted the landing when Imogen made it up, and they got to work at removing the vent cover. Once off, Brooke took charge again and entered first, guided by Imogen through the winding vents until they finally reached another cover. They waited a moment for another guard to pass before pushing the cover off and hopping down. They were officially inside the museum.

The museum was eerily silent, besides the occasional sound of their own footsteps. Imogen repeated the next part of the plan to the group, turning to leave with Mark when a sudden crash sounded behind them. They all turned toward the source of the sound, a girl not much older than Cassy, decked out in all black and even with her own grappling gun.

"Steak time," were the first words out of her mouth, a devilish grin crossing her face.

The others had no clue how to respond, confused not only with her sudden arrival, but her opening statement as well. It was Imogen who stepped forward, glancing around for guards before asking:

"Who are you?"

"Name's Amelia, pleasure to meetcha," she introduced herself, holding her hand out for a handshake, which no one took.

"Why are you here?" Imogen pressed despite Mark trying to get her to move on.

"Oh, you know," Amelia shrugged, "same as you guys. I wanna help steal the artifact in the vault. Heard you guys talking about it one day when I snuck into the museum for fun and decided that I'd join your team."

The others just stared at her with a mixture of shock and confusion, though Imogen couldn't help but let out a small laugh at her enthusiasm. She'd planned this heist to perfection, and, yet, she never could've expected anything like this.

"Alright, Amelia," Imogen nodded slowly. "Welcome to the team. Quick introduction, I'm Imogen, and these are Mark, Brooke, Dakota, and Cassy." Each person waved as Imogen introduced them. "Now, Brooke here will catch you up on the plan while Mark and I scout ahead."

With that, Imogen turned on her heel, practically dragging Mark away from the group as they scouted for the guards ahead.

Meanwhile, Brooke relayed the plan to Amelia, who was rummaging through her bag. Cassy and Dakota just shared a look of mild shock, still unsure of the whole situation. Amelia didn't seem like a threat, but it still didn't mean the situation wasn't weird as all hell.

"Why do you have a steak in your bag?" Cassy asked as Amelia pulled out an already-cooked (and quite burnt) steak from her bag. Suddenly her previous statement made sense.

However, they were so caught in up in being confused that they failed to notice the security guard approaching them.

"Hey!"

The girls turned toward him, frozen like deer in the headlights. 

"What do you think you're doing?" The guard asked, gun pointed at them.

Amelia raised her arms in surrender, steak still in hand. The guard's focus shifted to her as he spoke:

"Oh, no! Not the old steak trick. I'm not falling for that twice—"

The girls exchanged a confused look, the same thought running through their minds: 'twice?'. Amelia slowly lowered her hands, placing the steak back in her bag. Dakota made a mental note to ask her about that later.

"Yeah, put the steak down," The guard continued, head nodding in satisfaction. "I'm not even gonna look at the steak. I'm looking at you, right in the eyes."

The guard was so focused on not letting his gaze falter from the group that he wasn't able to spot Mark as he raced back to the girls. Arms wrapping around the guard's neck, Mark quickly took him down.

"What the hell happened?" Imogen asked as she approached the group, looking down at the now-unconscious security guard.

"No time to explain," Mark shook his head. "We need to keep moving."

Moving as a whole this time, they made their way into the first exhibit room, sneakily making their way around the totems holding artifacts. Mark quickly ducked down behind one, pointing to where a guard was now approaching. The girls followed suit, hiding out of sight as the guard entered the room.

Imogen and Dakota made eye contact, nodding together. Imogen rummaged through her bag and tossed Dakota a baseball, who waited for the guard to be out of her way before throwing it. The ball bounced out of the room, leading the guard out as well. Once the guard was well out of their way, the group made their way out into the next rooms.

"Stay low and stay quiet," Mark warned as they skirted around more artifacts.

The next few rooms were a breeze to get through, and everyone seemed a bit jittery as the vault came into their sights. They were so close when the doors suddenly swung open, revealing two more guards. The group raced to hide, listening in on the guards' conversation.

"You know what I love most about this vault?" The first guard asked. "You need two keys. One for you, one for me."

Imogen cursed under her breath at the realization, waiting until the guards were gone before gathering the group back together.

"This wasn't planned," Mark spoke for her. "I'm sure you heard, but we need two keys to get in. We need to follow those guards and get them from them. You guys follow the guard back the way we came, and Imogen and I will search for the other guard."

Everyone nodded in agreement, Mark and Imogen sneaking off in the same direction the first guard went. The tension in the air was thick as they began to catch up to the guard, watching his movements carefully. The key was latched on the guard's belt, just behind his left arm.

"We need to make a diversion," Mark whispered, he and Imogen huddled behind a pillar. "You got anything else in your bag that could help us?"

Imogen shook her head, replying, "All I have left is my grappling hook, the map, and my gun."

"Give me your gun."

"What?"

"You're stealthier than me. Give me your gun and I'll create a diversion for you to grab the key."

Despite knowing it was a bad idea, Imogen unclipped the handgun from its holster, handing it to him slowly. Mark directed her to make her way towards the back of the guard while he approached from the side. Raising the gun, Mark pulled the trigger, the bullet lodging into the wall and well away from hurting anyone. At the same moment, Imogen reached up and grabbed the keys off of the security guard's belt, the shot spooking him too much for him to notice. Once the key was in her possession, Imogen raced back to Mark and the two regrouped with the others.

"You got a key?" Mark asked once they were all together. Amelia nodded and held it up, handing it over to Mark when he held his hand out for it.

Walking to the vault, Imogen and Mark stood on opposite sides of the doors, inserting and twisting the keys simultaneously. The other girls watched as Imogen pushed the heavy door open, Mark quickly racing into the vault once there was room. The others followed him in, Imogen making sure to close the door behind them.

"Oh, this is it. This is really it!" Mark exclaimed, his expression showing the same amount of joy as a kid in a candy shop.

He removed the glass casing, tossing it off to the side carelessly, the glass shattering. The girls watched in awe as he picked up the artifact, though Imogen squinted as she seemed to notice some slight glitching as he did so. 

Turning to the group, Mark proclaimed, "This is going to change our lives forever."

Smiles began to creep onto their faces, but quickly fell as alarms starting blaring. They all turned in different directions, looking for a possible out to their current situation.

"Um, this is fine!" Mark stated, though he barely believed himself. "This is why we plan. Right, Imogen?"

Imogen was surprisingly calm, giving Mark an icy stare as she walked toward a manhole cover in the vault.

"This our way out," She said simply. "The sewers."

"But that's not the plan," Mark argued, shoving the artifact into his bag. "The plan was to leave the way we came."

"Yeah, but security's gonna be on our ass at any moment now, so we're taking the sewers. It's the safest way out."

Mark opened his mouth to argue some more, but quickly shut it, jaw clenching and expression darkening.

"Fine," he begrudgingly agreed, helping by removing the cover. "Hand me your bag. You hop down first, then I'll drop the bags down, then we'll follow." Turning to the others, he asked, "Sound like a plan?"

They nodded in agreement, and, despite her better judgment, Imogen handed her bag over to Mark. The last person she made eye contact with was Dakota, giving her a knowing look before hopping down into the sewers.

No one had the chance to react before Mark placed the cover back over the manhole, the gun he'd taken from Imogen pointed at the rest of the group. A malicious grin crossed his face as he spoke:

"Now that she's out of the way, let's finish our heist, shall we?"


	16. Chapter 16

Dakota couldn't believe what had just happened. She stood there in shock as Mark pointed a gun at them, mind racing. He'd just thrown Imogen into a death trap and was now threatening the lives of herself and the others. Jaw clenching, Dakota found resolve and reached for the gun at her hip, raising it to aim at Mark. Brooke, Cassy, and Amelia watched her, wide-eyed, fearful of what was about to happen.

"We're taking the sewers," she stated, trying to keep herself as calm as possible. "I'm not leaving Imogen down there alone to die."

Mark was a bit taken aback by Dakota's sudden burst of confidence, letting out a low chuckle moments later. He turned the gun on her and aimed at her forehead, grip tightening.

"And what are you going to do about it, huh?" He challenged, raising an eyebrow. "Shoot me?"

"Yeah, you know, I might."

"Okay, do it then."

Dakota tried to stand her ground, finger tightening on the trigger ever so slightly, but upon meeting Mark's gaze, she lowered the gun. He'd called her bluff. She wouldn't have shot, but she knew Mark would without hesitation. He was selfish and would stop at nothing until he got the result he wanted. That's the reason they were in this position in the first place.

"Well, since the guards are probably on their way, we should probably get going," Mark said, giving Dakota one last glare before storming out of the vault.

The girls exchanged a look, hesitating a moment before following him. They hadn't had much choice. Despite outnumbering Mark, he was the only one capable of actually pulling the trigger. He had complete control over them by removing one person from the picture and threatening their lives. 

As they exited the vault, the alarms grew deafening to the point the girls almost couldn't hear Mark yelling at them to follow him, narrowly avoiding being seen by the guards as they ran to inspect the now-empty vault.

Mark led them back the way they came, but before reaching the entrance to the museum, he ducked right into a dark room. Once the door closed behind them, Mark fumbled around for the light switch, illuminating a room full of old explosives and weaponry moments later. The group stared at it in shock, worried that one wrong move would cause it all to blow.

"Okay, this is fine," Mark tried to reassure them, but just increased their worries. "All we have to do is be really, really careful and really, really, quiet as we get to the exit on the other side of this room."

Without much choice, the group started their way through the room, careful with their steps.

"Hey, I think they might be in here!"

The guard's shout just outside the door caused them to freeze in their tracks, looking to Mark for guidance, but all he could muster was:

"Maybe they didn't mean in here?"

They were only able to take a few more steps before footsteps rushed to the door and the guard's voice rang out again.

"I was right! They are in here!"

Precaution thrown to the wind, Mark yelled at the girls to run. They took off at a sprint toward the exit as the guards entered the room, bullets raining down on them and the gunpowder. Mark, Brooke, and Cassy made it out unscathed, but Amelia clutched her arm in pain as she was grazed, and a bullet had lodged itself in Dakota's thigh. She stumbled for a moment but pushed through the pain to catch up with the group outside the building.

No one seemed to notice the others were hurt, running as fast as they could back to their car. The security guards hadn't followed them out, their jurisdiction only valid on museum property. The museum's alarms had quieted as they got further away, but the police sirens took their place. Mark was the first to make it, searching his pockets for the car keys before it dawned on him that Imogen was the one who'd driven and, therefore, had the keys.

"Shit!" He exclaimed, looking around frantically for an out. He tried pulling on the door handle, hoping maybe it would be unlocked, but to no avail. 

Dakota was the last to make it, body practically slamming against the car as she struggled to stay upright. Breathing heavily, she slid into a sitting position and held her leg in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The pain was unbearable, physically and mentally. She looked down at her now-bloodied pants, vision going blurry as she fought consciousness. It wasn't that blood made her nauseous (she'd seen and had multiple serious injuries throughout her life), but the combination of losing Imogen, Mark's disregard, and the gunshot wound. It was then that Dakota noticed the tears running down her cheeks, but whether they were out of pain or sadness, she couldn't tell.

"Hey, are you okay?" Brooke asked, the first to notice the injuries. She'd already deemed Amelia to be alright, the bullet ripping the fabric of her jacket and barely breaking the skin.

Dakota just shook her head "no", face paling as a result of the blood loss. Her vision was getting blurry from the combination of tears and pain, her head spinning with so many thoughts.

"Okay! I see two ways out of here," Mark said, either completely oblivious or uncaring to the fact that Dakota was bleeding out.

"Mark!" Brooke interrupted him. "Dakota needs to go to the hospital. We need to get into this car now."

"Okay, but I see a helicopter in the airfield!" Mark protested. "It'd be faster and it's just a few hundred yards away. We can make it."

Brooke looked down at Dakota, who just shrugged in response, not able to fully process what was happening.

"Fine," Brooke agreed.

Reaching down, she helped Dakota up, wrapping her arm around her neck so she could walk with better support. Mark led them away from the car through the empty streets to the airfield, stopping at the chainlink fence. He helped Amelia climb over first, then Cassy, then struggled to lift Dakota as gingerly as he and Brooke could. They then climbed over at the same time, Mark resuming his position as leader, and Brooke making sure Dakota was still conscious and upright.

The sirens grew dangerously close as they approached the helicopter, which, Mark discovered, was miraculously unlocked.

"Alright, who's flying?" He asked.

Brooke just stared at him in disbelief.

"What do you mean 'who's flying'?" She asked with an incredulous scoff. "You chose the helicopter! You should know how to fly one if you choose it!"

"Um, no," Mark retorted, looking at Brooke as though she were crazy. "You guys are always full of surprises, I figured someone would know."

"Maybe Imogen would if you hadn't left her there to die!" Brooke shouted, gently setting Dakota down in a sitting position.

"She betrayed me before I did, it was only fair," Mark said, crossing his arms defensively. "She couldn't be trusted. You should all be thanking me! I'm the hero!"

"Are you serious, Mark? You think sentencing Imogen to death and Dakota bleeding out make you the hero? You're the villain if anything."

Mark's jaw clenched, hands balling into fists at his side. He wanted so badly to lash out, but he'd already done enough damage. As they launched into another pointless argument, no one had the chance to notice the police pulling in until it was too late. The blue and red lights flashed on their faces as the police began shouting, but it was all a blur for Dakota.

She watched as the rest of the group raised their hands in surrender, dropping to their knees as instructed. She could see the tears streaming down Cassy's face, wanting to reach out to her but barely having the energy to stay conscious. Her mind drifted as the police approached, reading their rights to them as they handcuffed Mark first. He was scowling, shooting Brooke deadly glares, but she remained as calm as possible despite the intense fear she felt.

Dakota was the last one handcuffed, barely noticing when the police yanked her to her feet, her gunshot wound screaming in pain. She said nothing, feeling numb as she was led to the police car. She'd lost her best friend, her sister, and now her own freedom, all in the same day. She was utterly devastated, slipping into unconsciousness moments after the door to the car closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is so short compared to the last & upcoming few! it was either one short chapter or like two 5k word chapters so i went with the short chapter instead


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